


The Shared Kitchen

by hogwartsjaguar



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Anxiety, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Bisexuality, Class Differences, Coming Out, Developing Friendships, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Eventual Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Greg Lestrade is a Good Friend, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period Typical Attitudes, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Sexual Content, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Slow Burn, Theatre, Unilock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 10:24:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 97,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19083130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hogwartsjaguar/pseuds/hogwartsjaguar
Summary: "Greg wondered what on earth he had done to upset his kitchen-mate when he had received a death glare the moment that he had stepped into the kitchen. The lanky but slightly plump bloke was in the middle of labelling a box of tea bags when he had walked into the kitchen."Mycroft and Greg are in university together and are in student accommodation, and share a kitchen.





	1. The Accidental Wing Man

**Author's Note:**

> I might be wrong with some details surrounding English university, especially with details such as student accommodation and other bits and pieces, as this is based around my experiences in a Scottish university. 
> 
> Additional tags will be added as the story progresses, but it will be trigger warned at the start of the chapter.
> 
> The fic is set in the 2000s, and the character's ages have been altered to fit the story, so Mycroft is nineteen and Greg is twenty-one, John is nineteen, and Sherlock is almost eighteen.

_September 1st_  
  
Greg knew that he didn't belong in university the minute that he arrived into the shared kitchen and met the person who he was sharing the area with for the next year.

Greg knew that it was just luck that he managed to scrape through his A-Levels through night classes and he managed to get into university, as to why would a working-class boy from a council estate manage to get into a posh uni? The people on the admissions board were probably feeling very generous when they looked at his UCAS form, they probably saw his address and felt pity for him. It was a miracle that he managed to get into university in the first place, he didn't even plan on even applying, his grandmother convinced him to apply and to continue with his night classes even though he wanted to give up so many times.   
  
Greg wondered what on earth he had done to upset his kitchen-mate when he had received a death glare the moment that he had stepped into the kitchen. The lanky but slightly plump bloke was in the middle of labelling a box of tea bags when he had walked into the kitchen. Greg only had to look at him for a second and he could just tell that he was public schooled, he wouldn't be surprised if he was from Eton or Hogwarts, or some other establishment that needed at least a few thousand pounds in the bank for a term. He almost dressed like a librarian with that jumper he had on. Greg just knew that they weren't going to get one from the moment that he had come into the kitchen. The bloke sent a glare towards him and sighed, before he moved his eyes back to his label maker, his face slightly scrunched up with his nose upturned- almost like he was smelling something awful.  He almost looked like his auntie' s  fat white Persian, Napoleon with his face like that, or that he had run face-first into a glass window. Greg did his best to suppress his laughter by clearing his throat, but it seemed impossible, especially since he had never met anyone who would label teabags, it was the most pretentious thing that he had ever come across.   
  
"How is it going, mate? I'm Greg," he said in the attempt to introduce himself.   
  
"Mycroft Holmes," said the other a sharp tone, thrusting his hand into Greg's direction. He screwed up his face again, at the word 'mate,' Greg did feel half tempted to call it him again, just to be petty.   
  
Greg shook his hand and he noticed how Mycroft quickly pulled his hand away, and he seemed to wipe it on his trousers, almost as if he was disgusted at having to touch someone who was from a council estate. It was probably the first time Mycroft had ever been in contact with someone who went to a state school.    
  
"I'm not that filthy, I did have a shower this morning before the drive up here," Greg commented, as he leaned on the counter.  "I take it that you came up here this morning as well, I would have been here a bit earlier, I got into a fight with the parking here." As much as he wanted to annoy Mycroft, as he did seem like a bit of a prick, he did try and be civil in the attempt to be the better man. Mycroft did look like the type who got picked on at school, and he did hear some horror stories from public schools from a boy from the council estate who managed to get a scholarship into one. He didn't want to cause him too much grief, but it did seem impossible not to, especially since the bloke labelled his teabags. He wouldn't be surprised if Mycroft even counted them, just to make sure that no one would pinch them.   
  
"I arrived last night, I did not get the chance to unpack as it was late, my train was delayed," Mycroft replied curtly.   
  
"It is a nice day to arrive, I'm happy that it is not raining," Greg murmured before he cursed himself for his attempt at conversation. He never understood that the stereotype, the one where British people only seemed to talk about the weather until now. It just seemed like the least un-offensive topic that he could think of.  "I was going to have a walk around the place later on, especially since the weather is nice. I did see a few people outside for freshers."  
  
"It was raining last night," Mycroft attempted at conversation, but he just seemed uncomfortable at having to talk.   
  
There probably wasn't an easy way to really make conversation with a stranger who was a mile up the class ladder than you and would be sharing a kitchen with. Strangers didn't share kitchen, couples and families shared kitchens. There was meant to be three other students who were meant to be sharing a kitchen with them, two of them had dropped out last minute and the other had managed to move into alternative accommodation the day before. They were in the smallest block of student accommodation, there two medical students who were on the floor below them, they did have their own kitchen on their floor. One of them did seem nice, John Watson. He did help Greg carry his bags into the building from his car and they did make plans to get a pint, he hadn't come across the other bloke, but he would be joining them in the pub.   
  
"Tea!" Greg exclaimed in the attempt for conversation when it had struck him. Tea was the perfect ice breaker, it was something that all people of all social standing could agree on. "Why don't you put the kettle on and we can have some tea? You probably need a break from unpacking."   
  
Mycroft nodded stiffly before he asked Greg how he took his before he pulled a face at the number of sugars Greg asked for. Greg did back paddle a little and mentioned that he took sweeteners, in the attempt to make it more socially acceptable. 

Mycroft had taken a nice cup for himself, and Greg did notice that his name was written on the bottom of it. It was a posh looking mug, compared to the faded mug that was pulled out from the cupboard that was probably from the previous tenants which said 'sex kitten,' on the front. Mycroft did look disgusted at the mug but continued to make tea with it anyway. 

"I've been invited to the pub with some of the medical students if you feel like going?" Greg said as he stirred his tea and stuck in an extra sugar into it when Mycroft wasn't looking. 

  
"No, thank you," Mycroft murmured as he looked down on his mug. "I should be unpacking and preparing for classes."  
  
"If it isn't your thing, that's alright," Greg reassured. "It is probably going to be a bit mental, especially with all of the students. If you do change your mind, the offer is always there."  
  
"Thank you," Mycroft nodded and he attempted to give a slight smile, even if it did seem a bit forced. "I should unpack."  
  
"Me too, but I've been putting it off a little," Greg commented. "I'll probably have everything unpacked by the Christmas holidays. I've got most of my stuff in a few old crisp boxes and bin bags, it's probably better to put my clothes away before someone thinks it is the rubbish and throws it out. "  
  
It was a small attempt of a joke, it would hardly get a laugh. He was so surprised when Mycroft's lip seemed to quirk a little, and the almost constant disgusted look on his face seemed to leave his face. Greg took pride in this. It was a small victory.  He was going to melt icy exterior of Mycroft eventually, even if it did take the whole of the year.   
  
"I'll see you later?" Greg asked when Mycroft made his way out of the kitchen. "The offer for drinks is always going to be there, if not, take away is always standing."   
  
Mycroft didn't say anything but he did nod his head, and he twisted his mouth in an odd way. It was almost a smile, it didn't seem to reach his eyes though.  Greg almost felt half tempted to ask him if everything was alright, he didn't say anything though. He didn't know if he was crossing the line between strangers and friends too soon. Greg did what he always did, he didn't say anything and just nodded.

* * *

Mycroft didn't want to be in student accommodation. He didn't even particularly want to be in university in London, but needs made him reject his Cambridge offer. He would easily be able to transfer, especially with his academic performance, or he would have wait until his graduate degree, depending on the situation and if it was still there after three years of study. Mycroft was positive that the situation would last longer than an undergraduate degree, it would probably solve itself out or it would be solved with intervention and perhaps some force, either real or divine.    
  
Student accommodation was never his first choice, but it was too late to get an individual student flat, especially with his budget or lack of it. The current student accommodation was the most suitable, even if Gregory did seem to be of common stock and he did seem to enjoy being  _social_. He did seem pleasant enough and he did seem to have a few brain cells to be able to get a place in a high ranking university, despite his background.  It was something that Mycroft could respect even though Greg looked like he rolled out of bed and he did have rips in his jeans and a pierced ear, which was probably the result of a drunken night out.  
  
Mycroft hated his bedroom, he disliked the colour of the walls, which were a horrible beige colour and clashed terribly with the grey carpeting. He could only focus on the large stain which was on the ceiling, it was almost annoying how it didn't fit in with the colour of the wall and how it wasn't symmetrical. It almost looked like a stain from a smoothie or a drink of some sort.   He was meant to be focusing on his studies or unpacking his belongings but was instead lying on the bed staring at the stain. It almost felt like the  His room left like a prison cell with the brick wall and the beige paint. He did consider placing a poster or a canvas on the wall, he had the freedom to do so now, and it was what students did. He did almost feel tempted to have a normal student experience, he would treat it like a social experiment. He had interacted with other students in boarding school, but he had barely interacted with people his own age in the real world. The closest interaction with someone his own age was at his internship at the office, and that was Anthea, who barely seemed intrested in speaking to him and was more focused on her phone.  She didn't bother to learn his name and kept calling him 'Mike.' He had attempted to correct her after the first few times but then he gave up, especially when he realised that he had no power in the office and he was essentially the tea boy and he did the photocopying. 

His life was really not meant to go like this. It honestly couldn't get any worse.   
  
He sighed when he heard a knocking on his door, and he looked up to find Greg standing there. He was considerably more dressed up than he was before, having swapped his torn and messy clothing for a nice shirt and leather jacket. He almost looked like an actor from one of those films that he enjoyed from the fifties. Greg was so effortlessly handsome, it was almost annoying, especially since he couldn't get rid of those  _dreadful_ last ten pounds and he somewhat resembled an old potato that had sprouted, that was the last thing that Sherlock said to him before he had gotten onto the train.   
  
Mycroft didn't say that or comment on his appearance. He would never do that. It was so unprofessional, and Greg was a complete stranger, and he had barely spoken to him for ten minutes and they had that one cup of tea. It barely gave him the grounds to make comment.   
  
"Gregory," Mycroft nodded, as he tried to remove the imaginary wrinkles from his pressed trousers.   
  
"I was just about to head out..." Greg trailed off, running a hand through his hair. "I know that it isn't your thing and you are probably busy, but the offer is still there."  
  
"I need to pick my classes and get some books from the library," Mycroft murmured. "I do need to phone my brother, he is probably going to worry about me."   
  
Greg let out an understanding nod and ran this hand through his hair. "I need to do that with my mum, I've already phoned her three times today and she is still sending me texts every hour about the hour. Normally it is just her and me in the flat, so I guess, me going away is tough on her. "   
  
Greg seemed to hover around the door for several more moment, almost like he was wanting to say something else to him. Mycroft wasn't sure if this was an attempt to make friends or to make one last effort to convince him to go out. He had to admire his persistence with this, no one had been so intrested asking him to go to the pub, or to anything really. Mycroft almost felt half tempted to put on his jacket and go to the pub, Greg did seem alright, even though Mycroft could tell that he was messy and he was slightly loud- which came into the territory of being working class, well that is what Mycroft had seen on television and his encounters with people in the streets.  He did feel drawn to Greg for some reason, but he couldn't place a finger on it, it was probably due to his curiosity about the working class. He did feel tempted to ask questions about if the things on those tv shows were true and about council housing, but he knew that it was probably offensive and patronising.   
  
"You should not allow me to keep you back from the pub," Mycroft murmured, even though a part of him was desperately wanting to go to a pub, he hadn't experienced a pub before.   
  
"Right, " Greg said, as he slapped his shoulder in a friendly gesture. "Don't go and study too hard, I'll be out too late, I've got a morning shift. I'm at the Fox, it is just down the road if you change your mind. "  
  
He hovered around for a minute extra before he closed the door, and Mycroft was alone in his prison cell of a room.  Mycroft let out a sigh before he cracked open his economics textbook and he stared at it for ten minutes, he struggled to focus on and then he found himself closing the book and throwing it on the bed.  
  
He didn't know what had come over him, but he found himself placing a coat on and heading down to the pub. He placed it down to his curiosity about normal people and the word of the pub. He could afford to act like a normal student for the first day of univeristy, he was already ahead with his reading anyway. 

* * *

The pub just seemed like a whole new world for Mycroft, and he wasn't expecting it to be as loud or as full of goldfish. He had watched a few soap operas and documentaries which had pubs in, but he wasn't expecting to ever be in one, he had always assumed that they were rather  _common_ and  _ordinary._ He still couldn't believe that he was in a pub, the only drinking establishments that he had been in was a work function, which people were in suits and they were talking about politics. Mycroft had little idea about conversation topics that he was meat to be talking about in the pub, he doubted that Greg would be wanting to talk about economics or politics.

Perhaps he should have researched this before he went to the pub. It was just a bad idea to go out, and it was a sign that he should return to his accommodation. He caught a glimpse of people from the window of the pub, and they looked so much better than him, while he looked like a geography teacher compared to muscular and well-dressed people.   
  
Mycroft took a cigarette to calm his nerves. He knew that smoking was awful, but all of the popular boys in school did it and while it was an awfully common habit, it did calm his nerves and it did provide some common ground between him and the boys who mocked him, and it did grant him some level of acceptance when he joined them by the smoking spot in the old cricket pavilion.    
  
"Surprised to see you here," Greg's voice brought him out of his thoughts, and Mycroft immediately tried to hide his cigarette, he did want to make a good impression. "I thought that the pub wasn't your thing. "   
  
"I do not think it is 'my thing' after all, " Mycroft replied with a shrug. "I forgot my wallet," that seemed like a suitable excuse.   
  
"I could buy you a drink,  I really don't mind," Greg offered, "It seems like a shame that you've walked down the road and you are going without a drink."  
  
Mycroft tried to insist that he was fine but he felt himself getting guided into the pub by Greg, and to the bar before he could say anything.   
  
"What do you drink?" Greg said loudly, trying to get heard over the chatter of the other students.   
  
Mycroft had no idea, he never forayed into underage drinking, due to not being 'cool,' enough to participate in it when it happened at school, and he had the occasional glass of wine with his parents but he wasn't too fond of the wine that his parents had, and he could never pretend to enjoy it like what they did. "Soda water and lime is fine," He replied, it was better to stay sober for this experience. He wanted to take note of this experience.   
  
Greg nodded before ordering two pints and he passed one to Mycroft, 'for later,' and a bowl of chips for himself, before he guided Mycroft into a beer garden, which was considerably quieter than the pub.   
  
"You've never been to a pub before," Greg stated, pointing a finger in Mycroft's direction and he had an amused grin on his face.   
  
"No, I've been plenty of pubs," Mycroft replied quickly, he was not wanting to lose any respect or any reputation for being 'cool,' that he might have had with Greg.  He tried to take a sip of his pint, before pulling a face. He wasn't a fan of beer, he had discovered.   
  
"So do they not do underage drinking in Hogwarts then?" Greg teased.  
  
"There was underage drinking in school, I just didn't participate in it,' Mycroft murmured as he tried to work on his pint, but it just seemed worse at the second attempt.   
  
"You don't have to drink that if you don't like it," Greg commented before pushing the bowl of chips into Mycroft's direction. "It is alright that you've never been to a pub before, I'm not exactly going to make fun of you because of that."  
  
"I was just more focused on getting good grades for univeristy than being social," Mycroft murmured.  It was the perfect excuse for not being social, and having the closet thing to a friend at school was the Latin master. He did have some aqientances outside of school but rarely socialised with them and he was always left out of the weekly visit to the pub.   
  
"At least you are going out now," Greg shrugged. "I wish that I was like you and actually had my head down in school, I left early and  I didn't finish off my A-levels until a few months ago, and I did them part-time at night classes with a bunch of oldies, my mum was doing her one in English at the same time as me. It is so embarrassing to have your mum in a class and she got better marks than me." 

Mycroft nodded, and he wasn't too sure what he was meant to say in a pub. He tried to go over the basic questions that he could ask.   
  
"So what are you studying them?" Greg suddenly asked, putting Mycroft out of his misery as he tried to think of a good question.  
  
"History, politics, and economics, "  Mycroft said with a small smile.   
  
It was a new degree with the university, and being able to choose history modules was a little bit of rebellion for him, especially as his parents told him that it was useless but it was his favourite class in school and he had always done well with it. He had considered taking his rebellion a little bit further and joining a drama club, he did like the arts but he had been forced to take up more suitable pursuits such as the piano and fencing at school and on weekends. Uncle Rudy had encouraged his rebellious behaviour and he allowed him to take a few drama workshops in the summer and he rather enjoyed himself.   
  
"I'm somehow doing sociology and politics, but I'm thinking that I am wanting to switch over to criminology, " Greg said through a mouthful of chips. " I'm thinking that it might be better for me if I join the police, but criminology was full up when I was going through clearing."   
  
"I should be easy enough to switch courses," Mycroft said. "At least, I will know someone in the morning seminars for politics on Monday mornings."   
  
Greg let out a groan, "I can't be bothered with morning lecturers, it was half the reason that I left school early, but then I had to wake up early for a news round. I'll be awake anyway, I'm working most mornings. I'd be out all night if I could but I'm going to call it after ten I think. I'm the most boring student ever!"   
  
"I might beat you to that one, "Mycroft replied. "At least you were not studying on your first day here."   
  
"I'm glad that you did go to the pub, Myc," Greg commented. " I was meant to be going with John, but he ended up getting dragged away by some girl on his course. I can't believe that he is potentially getting one on his bed frame on the first day, lucky bastard."   
  
Mycroft frowned at the context and briefly wondered if this was something that normal people did all the time in the world of the pub. He did scan the garden to see if there was anyone good looking, but nothing caught his eye. The pub was mostly full of women and he had decided that when he was fifteen that they were not  _his area._ Mycroft finally confirmed his suspicions about his homosexuality the previous summer, once he had developed a bit of a fancy for the estate manager's son, who was tall, tanned and French. 

It never seemed to bother him that he liked men, it just seemed like an uninteresting thing about him, especially when he would rather be asked about his academic interests, and it wasn't like anyone would be interested in him anyway. He was uncomfortable about other people knowing that he liked men, even the notion of it was a cause of bullying at school and he didn't want to repeat it.   
  
"Scoping out the scene?" Greg teased before he nodded in the direction of a redhead. " Never thought that you would be one to do that."    
  
"I'm not, " Mycroft replied quickly, before showing a few chips in his mouth so he didn't have to talk anymore.   
  
"Who's caught your eye then? Which girl do you like? The redhead?" Greg asked as he downed off his pint before starting on Mycroft's discarded one. "Fancy another drink?"  
  
"I'm fine," Mycroft said in response to the two questions.  "The blond with glasses does seem intrested in you though, much more than the redhead." 

It seemed like the best way to brush the question away. In his own way, he was doing Greg a favour and helping him 'get one on the bedframe, ' as Greg had put it. It was probably something that normal people did. Acting as a navigator for a potential spouse for friends, a wingman. Mycroft heard that term in a film and he assumed that he'd be doing that for Greg for the year, only if Greg did not get fed up of him and wanted to be his friend for some reason.   
  
It seemed like such a bad idea to push Greg in the direction of another girl, but it did avoid any awkward conversations about who he liked. The last time that he told someone that he liked men, it led to his mother crying and deciding that it was better for him to not live under the same roof as her, and it did make Christmas dinner awkward, especially since they were doing the dinner for the show as the neighbours were there. His father had been somewhat supportive and was still in regular contact, but he said that it was a phase from being in an all-boys school and things would change when he was in more contact with _females._  
  
Greg nodded before he clapped Mycroft on the shoulder before he made his way to the girl with the glasses.   
  
Mycroft let out a sigh before he put on his coat and he left the pub, and he wondered if he had become an accidental wingman in the attempt to avoid an awkward conversation. The world of the pub was clearly not for him and he decided not to venture out there again. It was best for him not to.


	2. Macbeth and Microwaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft struggles with settling in at university but finds some joy in a Shakespearean tragedy.

_7th of September_

 

Mycroft realised that the transition to university was a lot more difficult than he had expected. He knew that it wasn't going to be easy, but he thought that it would be manageable, but it just seemed to be harder than he planned. He never expected the feeling of homesickness and he didn't know how to make it go away or how to prevent it.  He had some when he was in boarding school, but his mother did at least write to him and did phone every week, this time he had no one. Well, he could have contacted  Uncle Rudy and Paul, but it had seemed so cruel to burden them with his homesickness, especially after all they had done for him.  They were in America as Paul was in a conference for work and they were using the trip as an excuse for a holiday.   He had tried to telephone his brother a few times in the space of the week to 'check-up' on him for an excuse to have someone to talk from home. Sherlock was never interested in contacting him, but when he did, it was to complain about the cleaners or their parents, and how he was stuck with _idiots_ all day. Sherlock had been rather dismissive each time he phoned, the phone calls would last a minute or so at the most, and they were mostly Sherlock telling him to 'piss off', as he was experimenting with something.   
  
Being in student accommodation was trying, especially as walls were thin and it was freshers week, people would be stumbling around the halls at three in the morning or were being excessively loud, especially with the people who they brought with them. Mycroft had invested in earplugs on the second day of moving to student accommodation, he did want to study after all. It had been difficult to sleep in a room that was not his and he decided that he  was going to make use of the sleepless nights. He had barely ventured into the kitchen, other to use the kettle, but Greg always seemed to be there. He had managed to hide his lack of cooking ability with sandwiches and the occasional takeaway. He had his first encounter with a microwave and he could not figure it out for the life of him, they never had one at home, and meals were always prepared for him by the cook. He had been reluctant to try food from the canteen, as students were the ones to prepare his food and he didn't want to be too social. He had barely left his room other than going to the kitchen or the library, and occasionally the gym. He had been tempted to join the drama club especially as they were doing Macbeth for the first production, he always had a love for the theatre. Mycroft realised that he would have to be thin and good looking to join the club, and he was neither of those things, Perhaps he could join in the next semester, once he lost those troublesome ten pounds that never seemed to leave him.   
  
It felt stupid that he was struggling and his classes hadn't even begun yet. Greg seemed to be doing fine and he had embraced student life. Mycroft didn't see him too much, especially as Greg worked a couple of jobs but it didn't stop him bringing cups of tea around to his room with biscuits just about almost every day and he would try to get him to leave his books to the side and watch football with the medical students. He never did take him up on his offer, he assumed that other students wouldn't like him that much and that Greg had just invited him out of pity. It would only be a matter of time until Greg would get fed up with him anyway, perhaps when he got himself a girlfriend.   
  
Mycroft sighed before he moved away from his desk and moved to his bed, just to look a the smoothie stain which was above his head. He checked his phone to see if there were any missed calls from his brother or any messages from his uncle, but there was nothing. Mycroft let out a sigh before he started to count the ceiling tiles and debated if he was going to get a poster on his wall. He had unpacked, but his room did feel a bit like a jail cell and had no personalisation to it. He had caught a glimpse of Greg's room when he left the door open. His room was a bit of a mess with clothes on the floor and he had a few band posters on the walls and ones with girls on motorbikes.  There were a few pieces of football memorabilia and family photos, he almost felt envious of Greg, he seemed to have a happy home life and he had settled in really easily.   
  
Mycroft lay in bed for twelve minutes before he decided that he needed tea, it seemed like the only thing to make him feel better. There was a chance that he would see Greg in the kitchen, and he could listen to Greg's aimless chatter for a while. That always did seem to improve his mood. It felt like a bit of struggle to get out of bed and to walk to the kitchen, but he did feel himself cheer up a little when he saw Greg fiddling around in the kitchen and singing quietly to himself as the radio played. Greg did look rather pleased with him and Mycroft had no idea why he would be, they had a small squabble over the dishes the morning yet.    
  
"How's it going, Myc?" Greg said cheerfully.   
  
He was making lunch for himself, Mycroft didn't even know that it was lunchtime, he had missed breakfast and he had missed dinner the night before. He wasn't even studying, he had completed two weeks of his coursework and the additional classwork instead, he had been lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling or at his phone.  He knew that should probably eat something, he had been a bit forgetful about eating recently and it seemed to do him a favour as his trousers felt a little bit lose, it was the only pleasure of his low moods that he had at times.   
  
Mycroft just nodded in agreement before he switched on the kettle for himself, he did offer to make Greg a drink as it was the polite thing to do. He had needed to go food shopping for himself, but he could never find the time or the motivation to go to a supermarket.  He would have to go eventually, he did need to get more tea bags. 

"Have you been up to much?" Greg asked, "You've been hauled up in that room for so long, that I was almost convinced that you had a girl in there."    
  
Mycroft faked a chuckle as it just seemed to be the right thing to do. "I've just been a  bit busy with course work."    
  
It was believable, Greg would probably laugh at him for confessing that he was feeling homesick. Greg seemed to be coping well with things and he always seemed to be annoyingly cheerful when Mycroft had encountered him in the kitchen.    
  
Greg nodded before pushing a bowl of pasta in his direction. "You should eat this, you look a bit rough and I doubt that you've barely eaten. I never see you have more than sandwiches and tea."  
  
"I'm not much of a cook, " Mycroft quietly confessed and he wished for nothing more than to be in his room.   
  
"You should go to the canteen then, the food isn't that bad," Greg said, as he sat down next to him with his own bowl. "You just can't have tea all the time, I know that it is difficult not having your mum to cook for you. "  
  
"My mum has never cooked for me," Mycroft said bitterly, as he pushed his food around his bowl. He didn't feel too hungry but he took a few bites for Greg.   
  
"Do you have a cook then? Posh people have those, don't they?" Greg asked, "You probably would have had them in Hogwarts as well?"   
  
"I didn't go to Hogwarts. I didn't even go to Eton or Harrow, it was just a small boarding school that was two hours away from where I am from, I wanted to be closer to my brother. I did go home on the weekends."  
  
Greg didn't say anything for a few minutes and he was focused on eating his pasta. Mycroft just wished that he was back in bed, he knew that Greg was going to ask him something and possibly start an awkward conversation. Greg had a habit of initiating them over the last couple of days, he knew that it was an attempt to be nice, but he still could not figure out for the life of him why Greg was doing it. He was rather good at deducing people,  but he struggled with Greg for some reason. He could tell the obvious things about him just from the way he looked, but that was it. It was the first time that it had happened before and it felt rather nice to not have his head overloading and buzzing with information, it was something that he experienced especially when he was in room of people. 

"You look like you are going to say something and I'm not going to like the conversation, " Mycroft murmured as he stirred the pasta around the bowl, picking out the bits of vegetables. He was rather impressed with how much vegetables were in it, especially as it was a student meal and students were supposed to live off take away and kebabs.   
  
"I was just wondering if you were alright?" Greg asked a look of concern was over his face, it looked unnatural, especially as Greg had either a grin or a content expression on his face the majority of the time. He had never come across a person who smiled that much at him before. It was almost frighting as Mycroft never knew what he had done or why Greg looked happy to speak to him.   
  
"I'm fine, " Mycroft replied briskly. "What makes you think that something is wrong?"   
  
"You've just not come out of your room that much and you've just been a bit quiet, plus you only seem to just eat sandwiches and tea," Greg listed off. "Look, mate, I'm trying not to pry too much, I'm just a friend but I'm worried. You should go and tell me if something is bothering you, we do share a kitchen."

Mycroft didn't say anything for a good five minutes, he wasn't sure when Greg decided to be his friend. They did go to the pub the one time and they did share a kitchen, but he did not know if that constituted a friendship. He never really had a friend before, he wasn't sure if he should be excitedly phoning home or Dr Miller about this new discovery. A feeling of dread settled in his stomach, he never had a friend before, but he wasn't sure about what he should be doing on his end of the friendship.  He had acquaintances and he did willingly interact with the few interesting people that he had come across in the writing class that he took in the summer holidays or the lectures that he attended for fun.   
  


"Are you feeling homesick?" Greg asked suddenly through a mouthful of pasta. "I'm missing my mum and my nan, but it gets a bit easier if you don't think about home and keep yourself busy or you just give them a ring. They would be happy to hear from you. "  
  
Mycroft sighed and pushed the bowl of pasta away, even thinking about his brother left the pasta feeling like iron in the bottom of his stomach. It was probably unfair of him to go to university, especially when his brother was struggling with school and their parents being in France didn't help things, perhaps he should just go home. It wasn't fair for Sherlock to be in school all week before going home to an empty house for the weekend. They did have the housekeeper and the cook, but they would have a half-day on Saturday before they had their day off, plus Sherlock wasn't too fond of them and had little desire to talk to them.   
  
"I'm probably just tired," Mycroft replied with a shrug before he stood up from the table. "I need to prepare for the seminar tomorrow morning. Thank you for lunch."  
  
Greg gave him a nod and grabbed his arm for a second, giving it a brief squeeze and made a comment about where he would be if he needed to talk. Mycroft knew that he could never take him on that offer, he doubted that Greg would understand the situation and he didn't know why he was having this feeling, he had been accused of not having a heart or feelings so many times, that it was almost surprising that he was feeling something. He would have to make the effort to be happier, he didn't like having people worrying over him, even if they were his friend apparently. 

* * *

 

"Penny for your thoughts, Greg?" John asked as he scraped fried egg off a plate before handing it to Greg before working on the large pile of plates from the breakfast service.   
  
Greg shrugged before he put the plate on the dishwasher rack, before accepting the next few plates from John and closing the dishwasher. "I'm just a bit worried about Mycroft, " Greg said, raising his voice a little to get heard over the dishwasher.    
  
The canteen was not the most glamorous of jobs, but people had to go and eat. It was a job and he could not complain about it, even if he did have to be there for six in the morning for breakfast service and he spent most of the morning washing plates and cleaning up after people. It wasn't as bad a lunch service, and his mum had told him that any job was a good job. He couldn't exactly breeze through college like everyone else in terms of money, and he did have to work two other jobs, the other in a supermarket, and he managed to get a few shifts in the student union. He did wonder when he was actually going to have time to study. He was going to make his mum proud of him though, even if he was going to need to have match sticks to keep his eyes open.   
  
"Mycroft? That is the odd bloke in our building?" John asked, chucking a tea towel in Greg's direction.   
  
"He's not odd, he is actually alright," Greg commented as he started to polish the cutlery for lunch service. "How are you doing? Are you not too homesick?"  
  
"Nah, it is a relief to be away from my sister," John replied with a shrug. "Mike is a laugh and I've got enough to keep me occupied, I was staying with an aunt before I went to uni, and I'm already pretty settled in at this point."

"I know that it isn't my place to be worried about Mycroft, but the only time I really see him is when I'm bringing him tea," Greg said.  "He is all public school and probably used to being at home, but I don't think he's phoned home or anything. He just seemed a bit down, being honest. I can't really do anything, I've only known him for a week or so."  
  
"He doesn't seem to be that friendly anyway. I did try and chat to him, but he just looked uncomfortable," John commented with a sigh as the last of dishes on the counter were away. He removed the pair of Marigolds and the hair net. "I'm surprised that he is chatty with you."   
  
"He is just a bit shy, he is probably at shock at having to talk to someone from a council estate," Greg let out a smile despite his concern.  "He is actually alright, he makes me think of my brother. It really doesn't help that he is tall like him as well."   
  
"Hopefully, he is feeling better later, are you still on for the football tonight?" John asked, throwing his apron into the box. "I'm needing to run off for rugby, thanks for covering me for again, mate."   
  
"Of course I am!" Greg commented, "Just warning you that your team is going to get its arse kicked again, especially with how terrible the goalie is. He was basically asleep at the post!"  
  
"Just for that you wanker, I'll make sure to break your ankle," John barked out, giving Greg a rude gesture.   
  
"Hopefully you won't go around talking to your patients like that in years to come, Doctor Watson," Greg chuckled before he made a start polishing a never-ending pile of cutlery. 

* * *

It had been a surprise to catch Mycroft in the kitchen when he had returned from work that morning. He was fiddling with a microwave, murmuring quietly to himself as he tried to figure out what buttons to press.  It was almost like watching a ginger alien trying to figure out how a kitchen appliance worked. Greg did wonder if Mycroft actually knew how to use a microwave. He knew that politicians and celebrities were often out of touch with the real world and how ordinary people lived, but Mycroft went to a private school and apparently had a cook at home, which basically meant that he was out of touch with the real world.    
  
"Are you needing help?" Greg asked, clearing his throat to hide the small amount of laughter that was threating to come out.   
  
"The microwave isn't working," Mycroft commented with a disgusted sigh at the machine. "The machine is faulty and we need to have a new one."  
  
"Have you used a microwave before?" Greg asked, he had often been curious about how really rich people lived, and he could imagine that if Mycroft had a microwave at home, he probably had a servant who used it for him.   
  
"Don't be ridiculous, Gregory, " Mycroft glared at him but he did move to let Greg look at the machine.   
  
"First of all, you have that to cook for half an hour, that is probably going to burn the kitchen down, " Greg commented as he readjusted the timer. "It also helps if you press the button to switch the machine on, there is a button that does say 'start'."   
  
"I just could not find the button," Mycroft replied, he almost looked sheepish at his mistake.

Greg didn't say anything, it just seemed a bit wrong to tease him especially as he had just seemed to be upset over the last few days. He would be able to bring it up later just to embarrass him later.  
  
"How are you doing?" Greg asked, trying to act casual as he knew that his concern for Mycroft the night before had probably made him feel uncomfortable. Especially when Mycroft didn't speak for five minutes after he called him a friend. He wondered what that was about, it was almost like a computer with a virus was trying to start up again in safe mode on an old Window's operating system.   
  
"Other than the microwave, I'm fine," Mycroft replied as he fiddled with the cups in the cupboard, checking all of the bottoms to make sure that the ones with his initials were in the right spot. "We need to hurry up, we are going to be late for the seminar."   
  
"It is the first day of classes, the lecturer is going to be happy that we turned up," Greg murmured, watching Mycroft take his porridge out of the microwave when it was ready. Mycroft did remind him of his brother so much, they did seem to have similar temperaments. Greg pushed the thought of his brother down quickly, he didn't like to think about him that much.  
  
"I'll be ready in a minute, I just need to get my notes," Greg murmured as he left the kitchen and went to his room. He sighed when he caught a glimpse of his brother in a photo, a feeling of regret washed over him, perhaps he should have phoned him a bit more when he was in university. He turned the photo around before switching out his work clothes for his course work and his laptop, he had taken extra notes in the night before, just so Mycroft would be impressed with his intelligence. as he was positive that Mycroft had considered him to be an idiot.   
  
He couldn't blame Mycroft for thinking that, he was still amazed that he managed to get three A-levels a few weeks ago, especially as he was so convinced that he had failed them. His mum did manage to get A*'s but she always had a good brain on her, she just didn't have the right circumstances in life when she was in school the first time. She was meant to be starting that new job soon and it would help her get a bit of extra money for the flat, even if it was just a job in an office, he was proud of her when she phoned the other day to tell him the good news. She had been needing something like this for a while.   
  


* * *

The seminar was full of idiots and Mycroft felt himself get bored after the first ten minutes, he could have missed the lecture and he would have still walked away with more information than having gone to the lecture. Greg seemed to be interested in the class, his face was scrunched up for most of it and his tongue was poking out as he was scribbling down his notes. It almost looked endearing in a way that Mycroft could not put his finger on.    
  
"My brain feels fucking fried from that," Greg complained as they left the seminar and they were walking back to the accommodation. "I don't know how I am going to manage football tonight, John is meant to be breaking my ankle tonight, fancy coming along?"   
  
Mycroft shook his head, he had little desire to watch or play football, he much prefered fencing anyway, it was more suitable for a man of his class. "I doubt that I would have much time for club or anything of the sort, I will have too much to study."  
  
"How are you going to make friends if you are in your room all the time?" Greg asked.   
  
"I have you, "Mycroft replied dismissively. "I've got one friend, it is more than what I had before."  
  
"I still need to drag you out to the pub again," Greg said with a small smile. "I've managed to get a few shifts in the union if you ever feel like going."  
  
Mycroft shook his head, he had decided that the world of the pub wasn't for him the first and the only time that he tried. In universities, people like him only belonged in the lecture hall or the library. He had made plans to attend the fencing society as he did not want to lose his ability and he did occasionally compete at home. He had the lingering notion to attend the drama society and to be in Macbeth, even if he was completely unsuitable for being on stage. It was a stupid desire if he had to be honest, it would probably be too much of a distraction from his studies anyway. He kept catching glimpses of signs for the show, it was almost like it was tempting him, even though it was ridiculous.  
  
"God, I love this play," Greg commented, nodding his head in the direction of the poster for auditions. "I had to study this for my A-level and I thought that it was amazing, I've watched this show like five times, and the films are great."   
  
Mycroft blinked in surprise, it was the least likely thing he could have heard from Greg's mouth, especially as Greg had been stumbling around the halls at three in the morning with the medical students in the last week and that he drank his tea out of a mug that said 'sex kitten,' on it. It was one of the mugs from the students who were there before, Greg had claimed the mug as he hadn't had the time or the money to buy a new one, and he didn't want to waste a mug.   
  
"You like Shakespeare?" Mycroft asked, trying to hide the look of surprise from his face.   
  
"I do have a Shakespeare collection in my room, I do like to drink but it doesn't mean I don't like literature," Greg said with a shrug. "Hamlett is bloody great, I do love A Midsummer Night's Dream, I had to do it for my GCSE in drama, I only took that class to impress a girl, I didn't end up with her though, she got a date with Oberon when I was Puck."   
  
He almost felt tempted to ask Greg if he wanted to sign up for the show, Greg would have no problem getting a role, especially with how attractive he was. He would be able to accompany him to the shows and he would be able to watch the rehearsals in the name of moral support, it would just be as good as being in the show himself. There was no chance that he was going to be in the show anyway, but it would be nice to just watch the show get built up, step by step.   
  
"You should go and sign up for it," Mycroft mentioned causally. "If it is a show that you really like, you should apply for it."  
  
Greg didn't seem to need that much persuasion before he nodded and shrugged. "Alright, it could be fun, I could work my shifts at work around this and it will be good to be doing something different."  
  
Mycroft tried to hide the smile from his face before he passed Greg a pen from his pocket, perhaps this might be the saving grace of university.  Other than making a friend, Macbeth was the only thing that would stop his life feeling like a Shakespearian tragedy.    
  
   
  


 

 


	3. The Art of War Over Toilet Paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg had realised that it would be difficult to share a living space with Mycroft the moment that he lay his eyes on him. The honeymoon period had soon ended in the middle of their second week living together. The first conflict had first started over an empty carton of milk in the fridge, which led to Mycroft being denied his cup of tea in the morning and it had caused their first argument, especially when Mycroft had to go wandering around the city to find a shop that was open at five in the morning so he could buy the milk. Greg would have bought the milk, but he had better things to do with his life than buying milk at five in the morning, Mycroft didn't seem to understand and it had lead to an avalanche of arguments over small things such as Greg stumbling in late at night and having the volume up too loud on the telly, and Mycroft using all of the paper in the shared printer and also his tendency to burn food, especially when he tried to make breakfast at half-past five in the morning. 
> 
> Despite the fact that they were on speaking terms at the moment, there had been a new tension in the kitchen.

_28th of September_  
  
  
Despite the fact that he had been in university for almost a month, Greg still felt that he did not fit in and he just wanted to go home. He knew that it was going to be difficult, attending university, but Greg never expected things to be that bad. His coursework was building up rapidly, and he had already had two essays with deadlines which were approaching, and Greg felt that Birnam Wood was coming towards him at an alarming speed.  It was difficult keeping up with three jobs on top of classes, and it was starting to become difficult to live with Mycroft. The novelty of having a 'kitchen-mate', had gone after the first two weeks, and small conflicts over the kitchen and the shared spaces had started to arise. Greg wanted nothing more than to just drop out and just go back to his mum, but he knew that he would be letting her down if he did that. The only thing that seemed to be helping him to stay in his course was drama society and the upcoming production of Macbeth.

Greg had realised that it would be difficult to share a living space with Mycroft the moment that he lay his eyes on him. The honeymoon period had soon ended in the middle of their second week living together. The first major conflict they had started over an empty carton of milk in the fridge, which led to Mycroft being denied his cup of tea in the morning and it had caused their first argument, especially when Mycroft had to go wandering around the city to find a shop that was open at five in the morning, so he could buy the milk. Greg would have bought the milk, but he had better things to do with his life than buying milk at five in the morning, and unlike Mycroft, Greg did not study at five in the morning. He was going to buy the milk, he had used up the last of it to motivate himself for a study session late at night, the empty carton was there to remind him to buy more milk. Mycroft didn't seem to understand and it had lead to an avalanche of arguments over small things such as Greg stumbling in late at night and having the volume up too loud on the telly, and Mycroft using all of the paper in the shared printer and also his tendency to burn food, especially when he tried to make breakfast at half-past five in the morning.    
  
Despite the fact that they were on speaking terms at the moment, there had been a new tension in the kitchen. Greg never thought to question it, and he had just assumed that Mycroft was starting to feel the stress from uni. He had been spending a lot more time in his bedroom, especially when Greg had Sally or other friends around. He did want to ask Mycroft about it, but the argument wasn't worth it, especially as Mycroft often acted like he was made of ice and he was prone to giving him the silent treatment, and also confiscating the milk and the kettle from him. 

Complaining about his living situation had been a part of his meetings with Alex, a student councillor, who was not much older than Greg, and he was covered in tattoos despite his nerdy looking appearance. He had been going to meetings with Alex ever since he had started university under the guise of going to the library. It was embarrassing to admit that he was visiting a councillor, it was even more embarrassing to admit that he had been going on and off to a councillor for the last few years. His mum had insisted that it was a good idea to visit one, especially after  _it_ happened. He had been reluctant as well, he wasn't the type to talk about his problems before, especially as it was something that blokes did not do, especially where he was from. Despite his protests, talking did help slightly and it did help him to start making 'positive changes'  in his life. That was the constant phrase which was uttered by his first therapist two years ago. It was also just nice to have a place where he could talk, a place where he did not have to be constantly cheerful all the time.   
  
"I don't know how I put up with Mycroft, he has been ignoring me again because I apparently left crumbs in his butter and I have been 'excessive', with my use of communal tea bags",  Greg started with a laugh, it was unknown if it was from amusement or if he was just exhausted from the absurdity of the situation. "I should be thankful that he hasn't changed the password for the wifi again. It just made me more thankful that he had bought his own router, as the wifi in accommodation is so slow and awful."   
  
Alex let out his own chuckle and he adjusted his glasses as he scribbled down a few notes. "Mycroft does seem like a bit of a challenge from the way that you have been describing him over the last few weeks."   
  
"Challenging that is a good word," Greg barked out a laugh. "Did I tell you that I had to teach him how to use a microwave during the first week here? I feel that the only reason that he puts up with me is that we are joining drama society together, well at least for Macbeth. "   
  
"Joining clubs is really good, Greg, it should help you get your mind of wanting to go home," said Alex. "Are you starting to settle in a bit better now? It is normal for students to struggle a little bit, especially in the first few weeks. I can imagine that it was difficult to leave home, especially after what happened."   
  
Greg stiffened up and he ran a hand through his hair. This was the part of counselling that he did not enjoy, actually talking about his problems and why he had started to see a councillor in the first place. It was a part of his life that he did not like to revisit despite the fact that it still got to him every day, and being in university made him think about it constantly.  He almost felt guilty somehow, and it was probably a reason why he had attached himself to Mycroft. Teaching Mycroft how to act like a normal person and how to use things such as a microwave, helped him not to think about things. It was so much easier to fuss about other people than deal with his own.  He did like to have a place where he could just open up and a place where he could talk about his problems, he just wasn't ready to talk about a certain one yet.   
  
Greg did his best to skirt around Alex's questions about his family and home, and he just pretended that he was needing advice and counselling to help him get through a bit of stress from his coursework. He did manage to leave Alex's office one piece and with a new breathing exercise to help when he was stressed, and also the suggestion that he cut back on his hours at work and also the energy drinks and coffee, and try and get a good nights sleep. Greg doubted that the latter would actually come. He hadn't had one in over two years. 

* * *

 

It had become increasingly difficult to focus on his notes on the British economic links with Poland in the early modern period, especially with Sherlock in his room. Mycroft had little idea why he allowed his brother to visit his student accommodation, more or less stay with him for the weekend. He did not know if it was even allowed to have visitors to stay over in halls, despite the fact that there were three spare bedrooms on their floor, and Greg or the medical students did not seem to hesitate to bring girls over especially after visits to the union or clubs on student night.   
  
Sherlock had seemed to have grown at least two inches since Mycroft had last seen him. His hair had seemed to be even more unruly, it would be, of course, Mycroft was not there to remind him to take a comb to it and make himself look presentable. His clothes were shabby and they did seem to be too large on him, but Mycroft believed that part of it was to do with Sherlock wanting to keep up an image of being 'cool.' Despite the fact that Sherlock apparently did not care what people thought of him, he did like to make an attempt to fit in the attempt to get less grief from his classmates. Sherlock had decided for some reason that public school education was not good for him and that it was boring, and he had decided that he wanted to see how  _real people_ lived and this would be done by going to a local comprehensive. Their parents did not care and Mycroft doubted that they would even notice, especially when they were in Australia for half the year, so he made himself Sherlock's guardian and he enrolled him in the best local school in the area. He had tried to get Sherlock to live with their uncle, but Sherlock had been uncooperative.  Sherlock seemed to like the school better than he did than his previous institution, but he often did complain of being bored. Mycroft could not blame him for being bored, they did not teach Latin in the school or fencing, and the school's budget was heavily focused on the football and cricket teams.   
  
Mycroft cleared his throat and he decided to address the elephant in the room, Sherlock had little interest in him unless he was wanting something and it was more than just a bed for the night. He turned around in his chair and he tried not to sight when he saw that Sherlock was on his bed with his shoes on, it was so frightfully  _common_.   
  
"You never want to spend time with me and you avoided me as much as you could in the family home, and now you are willingly spending time with me in a small room," Mycroft commented. "What are you wanting?"  
  
"Don't flatter yourself, Fatty," Sherlock replied rolling his eyes which were still glued to his phone. "The internet in the student halls is awful and you do have the WiFi router in your room."  
  
"I am assuming that you are just wanting more than some internet, and you should be in school right now," Mycroft managed while keeping his voice level, comments about his weight did impact him more than he would like. "If you must know, I've been losing weight. There are some rather good exercise facilities that are provided by the university."  
  
"I doubt that it would have that much impact, you are not able to cook and I've seen a large  number of Pot Noodles and tins of beans in your cupboard, plus I can't imagine that you would want to eat in the canteen, it is far too social for you."    
  
Mycroft did not even need to look at his brother to seek the smirk that he had on his face.  His brother was a git and a massive pain, and he was almost resentful for the fact that he cared for him a great deal, and he actually liked him as a person. He would never say that of course, attending university had not changed him that much.

"If you must know, I have decided that I am not attending college anymore, it is boring and it is full of idiots," Sherlock said rather dramatically, and he did actually look up from his phone for the first time that he had arrived.   
  
"Are you being bullied again?" Mycroft quickly asked. "I can phone the school to get the situation sorted out and if the worst comes to the worst, we can always find another sixth form college for you to get transferred to."  
  
"I don't see the point in staying much longer, there is nothing that I haven't learned at college, I know more than the teachers."   
  
"That might be true, however, you cannot go around telling people that," Mycroft pinched his nose and sighed. "What about doing what I told you, about keeping your head down and then you can go off to university?"  
  
"I'm not going to university, it is pointless," Sherlock shrugged his shoulders before turning back to his phone. "They just accept anyone these days, and I can tell that Garry who is on your floor is an idiot. I had a look in his bedroom when you were making tea. He works in the canteen, how  _common."_

Mycroft shrugged and sighed as he did not know what to say. Despite the fact that he did agree that working in a canteen was common, he did not shame anyone who worked there, especially Greg. He did not understand why people would shame others for working in service jobs, and often those rude people were idiots. Mycroft was under the belief that a job was a job, and it was a good job if it was honest work. Mycroft admired Greg for his work ethic, especially as he was working a few jobs to help to fund his education and living costs. Mycroft had offered to help to pay some of the bills and pay for the food but Greg had refused, being too proud to accept help. Greg working in the canteen had some advantages for him, Greg would bring food into the kitchen and he did get Mycroft some extra chips on the rare occasion he ventured to the canteen.   
  
"There is nothing wrong with working in a canteen, at least Greg is wanting to work towards his education," Mycroft eventually replied. "So what are you going to do when you leave school?"   
  
"I don't need to work if I don't want to,  we do have the family money and we have the estate," Sherlock commented with a smirk. "Well, I do at least, you would as well if you did not have that fight with our parents and told them that you were a fairy. I don't even know why they were so surprised, especially mummy. It was obvious since I knew what the word 'homosexual' was."   
  
"Shut up!" Mycroft replied cooley.   
  
Mycroft was not going to stand for this, this was a subject that he was not going to be mocked over.  Mycroft stood up and he debated about if he was going to tell his brother that he was not welcome to stay. He knew that he wouldn't do it anyway, he would rather have his brother sitting on his bed mocking him than being in a large house alone and possibly getting up to all types of mischief. He kept his mouth closed and he placed his jacket on, he would wait in the canteen until Greg was finished off his shift and then they would work on Greg's Macbeth audition together.  He tried to ignore the insecurity about  Greg knowing that he was gay. He did wonder if Greg would be funny about it and act like what the boys in school did. He doubted that Greg would flush his papers down the toilet or pull pranks on him, he would be shunned and mocked at the most. He would be able to cope with that, they only had a matter of months before they would be out of student accommodation.  He would miss Greg's friendship horribly, more than anything in the world.   
  
"Does he know?" Sherlock asked with a smirk. "I doubt that you would be bringing any gentlemen callers to the flat, especially with the way that you look right now. Plus your glasses age you by ten years make you look like an owl with your break like nose. "   
  
Despite trying to remain unphased by his brother's comment, Mycroft did remove his glasses before he stood up and shoved on his coat and he took hold of his copy of Macbeth with him. He did wonder how his brother could be so hurtful at times, especially as he was so kind and helpful towards him. Mycroft took in a deep breath and he tried to cover up any trace of emotions _,_ the  _Ice Queen mask_  that Sherlock had regarded it as. He did prefer it to be known as the   _Ice_ _Man_ , but Sherlock always had to mock his homosexuality.   
  
"I'm going to be out, help yourself to what is in the fridge," Mycroft replied without emotion. "Please behave yourself."   
  
"Macbeth? What on earth do you have that for? "Sherlock questioned.   
  
Normally Mycroft would be flattered with Sherlock being interested in his life but he knew that it would be subject to mockery. He just mumbled that he was assisting Greg with his drama society audition and he left before Sherlock could mock him even further. He did hear Sherlock's laughter through the door, but he just walked away quicker in order to avoid it, but it seemed to echo through the empty corridors of student accommodation.

* * *

 

Mycroft was waiting in the canteen and was picking at a slice of cake when Greg had eventually finished off his shift. It was a shift of hell and he was screamed at by his fellow students due to the length of the queue and how the coffee machine wasn't working and people had to get regular coffee instead of cappuccinos. He did not understand why some people were just so rude to him, it was not like he was preventing them from having lattes on purpose.  Matters only seemed to get worse when the sink was clogged and he had spent time removing lentil and vegetable soup from a sink with his hands since some idiot just poured the tureen down the sink instead of draining it.   
  
"Hey, Myc," Greg greeted him as he sat across from him with his food, a slightly disappointing vegetable burger which was left from his lunch. "How's it going? You seem a bit down, I doubt that the audition is going to be that awful. We have tones of time to prepare for it. "  
  
Mycroft looked almost startled when Greg spoke, his head was lifted up from his book which he was furiously scanning, his face was rather close to the pages. "Oh, my economics lecture was rather intense, it did not help that it is an early morning lecture."  
  
Greg nodded and chewed through his burger thoughtfully, sensing that something else was wrong but he did not know how to breach the topic. He felt a bit odd trying to cheer up Mycroft when he had a counselling session that morning. He felt that it was not his place to do so, and he did not want to annoy Mycroft. He did shove his plate of chips in Mycroft's direction in offering but Mycroft refused and commented that he had not been to the gym that morning. 

"So I was thinking that I might just audition for a small role, something that won't have that many lines to remember. I could just be MacDuff's son, he only has a few lines before he dies, or I can just audition to be one of the trees of Birnam Wood. That seems like something that I won't be able to mess up too horribly." Greg tried to joke but it only seemed to get a pathetic smile out of Mycroft. "So who are you auditioning for? I could imagine you being Macbeth, you are rather regal looking. How is your Scottish accent by the way?"

"It's not awful," Mycroft replied in a slight Scottish accent, which did sound rather posh because of his own accent. He gave a shy smile once he was finished as Greg had applauded his efforts. He was rather positive that there was nothing that Mycroft could not do that wouldn't impress him. 

 

"That was bloody amazing, mate!" Greg commented, reaching over and giving Mycroft a heavy clap on the shoulder. "You should be going for the lead role, you would be simply fantastic."

 

Mycroft's cheeks went pink and he gave Greg that small smile once again, as he looked down at his copy of the script. "I won't be auditioning for the play, I am here to support you and aid you in your performance."   
  
"I thought that you were auditioning for it as well? " Greg replied, as he tried to hide the feeling of disappointment that he felt. He had assumed that he was doing this play because it was something that Mycroft was wanting to do.   
  
"There is no chance that I would be on the stage," Mycroft commented with a sigh, finally pushing the piece of cake away. "I am more suited for a background role."  
  
"So you want to do the costumes?" Greg asked. "Be the director?"  
  
"More like being a spectator to the show," Mycroft murmured. "I would expect that I would write a play one day and this is a good opportunity to pick up some hints."   
  
"That's so cool, I can imagine that living together would be the inspiration for a show," Greg chuckled. "Our fights have been legendary and it's only been a few weeks, remember the one that started off with you burning pasta? I have never met anyone who has burnt pasta."  
  
It had managed to encourage Mycroft to emit a laugh and Greg felt rather proud of himself. He always did feel rather proud of himself when he could make Mycroft laugh, he felt that he was one of the few people who were able to do that in Mycroft's life, not that was boasting or anything.   
  
"What about that one when you got upset when I did not offer that girl tea on that Sunday morning?" Mycroft commented with a raised eyebrow. "Or the countless ones over the milk or who does the shopping. Remember when we had that fight in Tesco?"   
  
"Ah yes, that was like your first trip to the supermarket?" Greg teased with a grin. "Wasn't that fight over toilet paper and who bought it and what brand we used."   
  
"It was the most stupid argument, that tiff  is going into my play," Mycroft replied.   
  
" _The Art of War Over Toilet Paper,_  that is what you are going to call your play," Greg barked out a laugh.   
  
Mycroft laughed, and his cheeks did turn rather pink. He did seem to be embarrassed and it was almost cute.  He did wish that Mycroft would smile and laugh like that more often, Mycroft did seem to be far too serious and he did need to have someone who was able to make him laugh. It would do him a world of good. 

* * *

It was difficult to concentrate on his work especially with Greg's audition coming up. Mycroft was positive that he had been reading the same email for the last five minutes with his inability to concentrate. His day at work had been quiet, and he had spent the morning going on two coffee runs and organising a cake and flowers to be sent to his boss's wife for her birthday. His life was not meant to be like this, he was never meant to be some servant for a useless boss in a failed marriage. Mycroft knew that he should have been thankful that his father managed to pull some strings and get him an internship with an old colleague behind mummy's back, but he disliked the job so much. He always imagined that he would have his own office, his own assistants and his own lackey to bring him muffins and coffee on demand.   
  
It had been difficult to take his mind of Greg...It was Greg's audition which he had concerned himself about, and it was not just Greg in general, that is what he had been telling himself.  He had found his mind drifting on the matter of  Greg recently and it was something that was rather concerning. He had more important things that he had to focus on such as making his brother was staying in school and he had his studies to focus on. He did wish that Greg did not walk around in the shared kitchen in his football kit. Greg had managed to join a football team and it had to lead to him wearing the uniform almost constantly as the team had daily practices.   
  
He had managed to be professional about it, he would just simply go into his room and try to avoid him. It was so difficult especially being in a shared space with Greg, especially as Greg had little idea about how handsome he was, especially just walking around the kitchen wearing that uniform or that leather jacket which was constantly attached to him. It made him look like James Dean in Mycroft's eyes, especially when he wore it when he was smoking. It was always something that he found attractive, especially after he met Gabriel last summer, he worked on the family estate with his father in the attempt to improve his English. It was almost embarrassing to admit that he was that smitten with that boy, but it was hard not to especially as he had the habit of working shirtless. It was even worse to admit that he had volunteered to help Gabriel with his English for the excuse to spend more time with him, his mother had encouraged it, believing that it would assist with his conversational French and help him get into a good university when he got an excellent grade for A-Level French. He had even taken up smoking when Gabriel offered him a cigarette. It was devasting when he discovered that Gabriel was into _females_ right before he went back to France. Mycroft felt that he had finally recovered but then he had a stupidly attractive kitchen-mate.

 

He did not have the time to focus on his fancy for Greg, it was not going to help him with his degree and it would probably be a distraction from his studies.  It was so unfair that Greg was good looking and he did get the attention of _females_ rather easily. Mycroft could not blame them, it was impossible not to be smitten with him. He was so kind and helpful, he had a good work ethic,  he would sing in the kitchen as he cooked, he always had the talent to make people laugh, and he loved the arts. It was everything that one could possibly want in a man, Mycroft knew that it was something that he would never obtain. He had resigned himself to being on his own, he knew that he could be happy on his own, but it would be nice to meet someone. He had been craving it even more since he left for university, and it was something that normal people did.   
  
"Mike, are you going on the coffee run?" Anthea asked, her eyes were still glued to her phone and she was typing away vigorously at it. "I said that I wanted a muffin ten minutes ago."

  
Mycroft sighed as he turned around in his swivel chair and he fought the urge to correct Anthea about how to say his name. She had misheard his name on his introduction to the office and she had never bothered to learn it. She was always more focused on her mobile and she was constantly typing away. She had been in the office a few weeks longer than him but it made her believe that she did not have to do the coffee run anymore due to her seniority.   
  
"I do apologise, I have been working on my assignments for university, I must have been distracted," Mycroft forced a small smile on his face before sighing. "Was it a chocolate muffin you were wanting?"   
  
He disliked the internship so much and he did have a fear that his life would be in an office cubical for the rest of his life with the exception of going on the coffee run. He would get his daily tasks done within the first hour he was in the office and he would spend the rest of the day working on his course work and a novel which he was working on. His favourite part of the day was going on the coffee run and doing tasks that made him leave the office. He would pretend that he got held up or the line was really long when he was on the coffee run just so he could smoke and kill some time until it was time to leave the office. He did wish that he had Greg's work ethic, he had no idea how Greg could be happy with such mundane work in a canteen or in the student union. Mycroft did think that the pub would be interesting to work in, it would be like a soap opera as the people watched. Mycroft did toy with getting a job in a cafe, it did seem to be a lot more interesting to work there, it would allow him to people watch and he would have access to cakes and tea. It would be a perfect job for him.  
  
"Blueberry today, it is slightly healthier than a chocolate one," Anthea commented. "I've got a date in a few days, can you do that thing?"  
  
"What thing?" Mycroft asked despite the fact that he knew what she was meaning. He had some ability for deducing people, it was a bit of a party trick, being able to easily spot an accountant in a group of people, or being able to notice that Mummy was spending a lot of time with the French tutor when father was at work when he noticed a French dictionary on the kitchen counter. He had been blamed for the disrupting his parents' relationship and it was part of the reason why he had a  _strained_ relationship with them.    
  
"The _thing you_  do," Anthea commented with a sigh. "I don't want to go out with a total dork, and you really don't want me doing that."  
  
"I do not want to hear you complaining about your unsuccessful date in the office," Mycroft replied with a shrug. "Then again, it is probably going to be the interesting thing that I will listen to at the office when I'm next in."

Mycroft did not really care about the people that Anthea saw, but it was better to keep the peace at work and not make any more enemies, he did not exactly have that many friends right now. He did like Anthea, he enjoyed workplace gossip on occasion, but he struggled to understand the appeal of online dating and why Anthea would go on dates with idiots, she was sharp as an arrow and could type sixty words a minute, and was able to get information out of anyone. If Mycroft was somewhat inclined in that direction, he believed that he would be interested in Anthea. He was more interested in having her as a friend though, he had the desire to have those. He would hate to admit that to himself or to anyone, he would not even confess that on his death bed. 

  
"So what do you think about this fellow then?" Anthea asked as she thrust the phone in his direction. "I will give you all of the gossip when you are in the office. I like him, but I think that Sally has an awful taste in blokes, the last two dates she set me up on were horrible. Did I tell you about the forensic student I went on a date with? He was so obsessed with dinosaurs, that is all he talked about. He also had a lizard called Keith."  
  
Mycroft examined the phone and he tried to hide the sigh of disappointment when he saw the picture of Greg who was perched on a motorbike and was grinning away with a cigarette tucked behind his ear. It was moments like this that Mycroft wondered if Greg even had an idea of how handsome he was. He tried to hide the feeling of disappointment, it was not like he had a chance anyway. He quickly shoved the phone back in Anthea's direction and he pulled his glasses off as if it would stop him seeing the image of Greg on the motorbike.   
  
"So what do you think? Did you do your thing on him?" Anthea asked, she almost sounded hopeful as she badgered him about what he could deduce from just the photo. He wanted to tell her that the boy on the phone was his friend and that he would feel uncomfortable with them going out together. He was almost tempted to tell lies about Greg in the hopes that it would put Anthea off him and she would cancel the date. He was so tempted to do that or just not say anything at all. Instead, like the gentleman he was, he told her all the positive things that he knew about Greg, claiming that he could just tell from the photo.  He might have not had a single chance with Greg, but he was not wanting to make everyone else miserable just because he did not have his way. It was a major fault of his, he liked to make people happy and to please them. It was probably the most idiotic thing that he did, but he wondered if it was the right thing,   as Anthea smiled despite her eyes being glued to her phone and she spent the rest of the day discussing what she was going to wear. It was probably the happiest that she had sounded in a while, and she had even called him by his name and not  _Mike._

Somehow he managed to stay kind during the rest of the day despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to just wallow in his own self-pity, eat ice cream and smoke during the weekend. He could not do that,  it was so unprofessional and his emotions were not that important. He had a younger brother and a degree to focus on.  It was just childish getting this upset over a co-worker going on a date with his friend. Mycroft scolded himself several times during the rest of the day and he made himself go on an extra-long run on the treadmill and he signed himself up for a six in the morning spin class  for the next day as punishment for being such an idiot. He would force out his self-pity through exercise and it was something that helped get rid of a bad mood and prevented him from putting on weight from the sugary treats that he liked to indulge when he was feeling awful.   
  
He wanted to avoid Greg like the plague and he tried his best to avoid the kitchen at all costs, but it seemed to be impossible to avoid Greg once he had come home from work. He did not know what even happened, but he had even allowed himself to go to the pub when Greg suggested that they get a drink, as a way to celebrate his audition for Macbeth. Greg had little idea about what his part was yet, mostly as they were still doing auditions over the next week. 

Despite his emotional distress over Greg going on a date with Anthea, and how he wanted to be nowhere near him, Mycroft agreed to go to the pub. He felt that he needed a drink or two after the day of work that he had. It was a quieter pub that the one that he had attended during freshers week, and he knew that Greg probably made the conscious effort to pick this establishment. Mycroft did appreciate it and he chatted to Greg about any topic than Greg's dating life once he had a few fingers of whiskey inside of him. It was almost nice and relaxing, especially as Greg talked about his audition and what he had been up to at work that day. Greg could read the phone book and Mycroft would have been as mesmerised, especially as Greg would laugh at his own stupid jokes as he told them and he was so passionate about the play and his football team.  
  
Mycroft's good mood seemed to falter when Greg mentioned that he had signed him up to audition for the show.  He mentioned it so causally that Mycroft thought that he was joking. He actually laughed, thinking that it was a joke until he saw that Greg had a serious expression on his face and actually looked slightly hurt by it. It was meant to be a favour, that is how Greg tried to justify it. Greg believed that he was too nervous to sign up, and signed up him up to audition for his behalf.  A part of Mycroft did want to audition for the show and be in it, but he knew that he was not the right type for the show. He did not want to let down Greg and he knew that he would be missing his chance to do something that he wanted. Mycroft had an argument with himself in his head about the audition.   
  
Mycroft did not know what happened next or why he did it. He did down his whisky and then he found himself walking to the bar and he ordered himself another drink...well a few more. With the day that he had, he felt that he deserved a few more.  He also believed that he would need a bit of Dutch courage to humiliate himself at an audition for Greg. He realised that even if Greg said that he wanted them to do a parachute jump together, he would happily jump out of the plane headfirst without one.   
  
It really was a problem. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologise for taking a while to update, I have been busy with university myself and I am working on my dissertation/thesis for the last year of my degree, so uploads might not be as regular as I would like, but I'm trying my best!
> 
> All errors in this are my own, especially when it comes to the English university system.
> 
> Thank you for reading and feel free to check my Tumblr at hogwartsjaguar97. I'm also looking for a beta to help me with this fic, especially someone who is able to motivate me to write! I am so bad for procrastinating from writing and posting!


	4. Hangover Cures and Confessions.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft felt that death had warmed up that morning when his early morning alarm had blared in his ear for his six in the morning spin class. Mycroft was not sure what his biggest regret was, either signing himself up for an early morning spin class or allowing himself to go to the pub with Greg and drowning his sorrows. Flashes of the night before appeared in his brain, but it was difficult to focus on them with the headache which clouded his brain. His mouth felt like an ashtray, and he did smell of the pub and smoke. Guilt and regret from the night before lingered around him like the smell of smoke.

_29th of September._

John had been reluctant to approach the curly-haired boy who was hanging by the smoking shelter and collecting discarded cigarettes. He was not sure if the stranger had  too much at the pub or he was confused, but not wanting to leave someone potentially vulnerable, John decided to approach him. John was very aware of drunken behaviour, he could spot it almost instantly these days, his dad and Harry had helped turn it into a skill of his. 

  
 "How is it going, mate?" John asked as he approached the stranger with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat in the attempt to avoid the cold wind which blew past.   
  
"There are some interesting specimens of cigarettes on the ground here," the stranger said, as he picked up one butt and he examined it in the light of the smoking shelter. "This one, you can tell that it is a foreign brand of tobacco. You don't get tobacco like this from a local newsagent.  This one in the bag, this is rather old, you can tell."

The stranger showed the examination bag under John's nose for him to examine. The strange looked only about eighteen, with wild curly hair, and he looked far too skinny for his own good, especially with that angular face. He would grow into his looks eventually and he would lose the awkward gangliness of youth as he got older. He was enthusiastically talking about tobacco ash ad he had apparently identified over two hundred types of it, as he babbled about it in the five minutes since John approached. 

 

"Are you a student here? Which halls are you in?" John asked as he handed the specimen bag back. "I'm John, by the way, I'm in the building just across the road," John commented, jerking his head in the direction of student accommodation  
  
"Sherlock Holmes," The stranger commented before he seemed to examine John with a careful eye. "Disappointing night out?  You seem to be going back home earlier than most students, I've not seen anyone come back to the accommodation in the last hour and a half, everyone has been going out."  
  
"Late night at the library and I've got to work in the morning," John commented before trying to stifle a yawn, he had been at the books all day to get an essay finished and he had been rather successful. He had an early morning shift in the canteen and he promised to help one of the cleaners get her rounds finished that morning, especially since one called in sick. He wasn't even getting paid for it, but he owed Mrs Hudson favour, especially as she had been keeping some leftovers from lunch for his dinner and she was very accommodating to his shifts, especially when he was going to start doing a placement in the local hospital.  "I've not seen you around here before, Sherlock. What do you study?"  
  
Sherlock seemed to hesitate for a moment before he let out a sigh. "I'm going to be studying chemistry, not in this dump anyway. They just allow anybody in, and it is full of idiots."  
  
"Oi," John commented defensively. "It is not full of idiots, I worked my arse to get into this university, and let me just say that it is not a walk in the park, especially for medical students. I managed to get all A*'s to get here and I have to work two jobs, but it is going to be worth it.  Sure it is not Oxbridge, but it is still a good university. Have you just come here to mock the 'idiots,' then?"  
  
Sherlock blinked and he seemed to have been taken back from his outburst. He did mumble out an apology, but it did seem to be difficult for him and he was focused on his samples of tobacco ash rather than looking at John.  John almost felt guilty, and he did wonder if he had upset Sherlock.

"My brother studies here," Sherlock commented quietly. "I know that it is not full of idiots, you didn't seem to be that confused with my explanations about tobacco ash."   
  
"Has he kicked you out then? It must have been a while since your last train with how late it is then?" John asked before sitting on the kerb and Sherlock followed.   
  
"I don't think that he wants me here, he didn't seem to be that happy to have me around and I think that I upset him. The mammoth tends to get upset, especially when I comment on his weight or tease him for being gay."  Sherlock commented with a sigh. "I can't help it, it is impossible not to make fun of him. You would do the same if you met him. I was meant to be staying the night, but I don't think that I can get a train, and I don't want the driver to get me. He always gives a report to my mother."  
  
"You have a driver?" John asked, but it did seem to be the less important question right now. "Who is your brother? I might know who he is?"  
  
"You will know who he is just from looking at him," Sherlock commented with a smirk. "A fat, and camp looking ginger, probably wearing a jumper and horrible looking glasses. Mycroft Holmes?"  
  
John had come across Mycroft a few times during the month, mostly when he was either going to the gym, in the canteen, or the two of them had bumped into each other into the corridor to get to their respective floors, or in the laundrette.  He did not seem to match the description which Sherlock gave of him, but then again siblings were least likely to be kind. He had even come across Mycroft in his kitchen once when he was visiting Greg. Mycroft did come off as being rather awkward and just uncomfortable with human interaction with anyone other than Greg. 

  
He had heard the stories from Greg about the horrors of living with Mycroft, their conflicts over the objects that Mycroft labelled and who would buy the milk that morning. It seemed unlikely that the two were friends if he had to be honest, especially as Mycroft seemed like the less likely person Greg would want to hang out with, he would expect that Mycroft would be the type of person who Greg and his friends would probably tease in secondary school.    
  
"You two don't look related," John commented.   
  
"I do thank God for that," Sherlock commented with a smirk,  and John had to fight against a small chortle of his own, thankful that he did not resemble his dad or his sister in any way,  either in personality or in temperament,  it was awful enough having the same surname as them. 

Conversation with Sherlock seemed to flow easily without the need to have alcohol as a social lubricant and a conversation started. Sherlock did most of the talking and he took great joy explaining his experiment with tobacco ash and how he could identify over two hundred varieties just from the smell and colour among other factors. He had even boasted that he had even taken up smoking for science for his experiment. Sherlock was thrilled when John discussed his course and how he would eventually get to be on an actual hospital ward and he would be able to witness surgeries and participate in dissections.  John did find it concerning that Sherlock seemed fascinated with the aspect of dissections and the fact that he requested that John would sneak him bits of a cadaver for him for his 'experiments' and that he was really wanting to experiment on some eyeballs. 

John did not know if he had just come across a future serial killer or not, but it was nice to have someone who thought that he was interesting, even when he talked about his course work. He was often ignored for his 'cooler friends,' when he was on a night out and he did tend to get overshadowed by them or by Harry when she was either drunk or not getting her own way.    
  
Despite his concerns that Sherlock would potentially murder him and use his corpse for his experiments, John did agree to meet up with Sherlock again. Sherlock had insisted that he would bring his anatomy textbooks and his textbook on clinical surgery. It was a small price to pay for having someone actually interested in what he had to say, and John was happy to pay it. Sherlock looked like he needed a friend, and John was sure that he was needed one as well.

* * *

_30th of September_

 

Mycroft felt that death had warmed up that morning when his early morning alarm had blared in his ear for his six in the morning spin class. Mycroft was not sure what his biggest regret was, either signing himself up for an early morning spin class or allowing himself to go to the pub with Greg and drowning his sorrows. Flashes of the night before appeared in his brain, but it was difficult to focus on them with the headache which clouded his brain. His mouth felt like an ashtray, and he did smell of the pub and smoke. Guilt and regret from the night before lingered around him like the smell of smoke.  
  
Mycroft groaned as he tried to reach for his phone on the bedside table without lifting his head from the pillow, instead he knocked down the contents of a takeaway box of chips which was there instead. As he let out a heavy sigh, Mycroft wondered if he was being punished by some divine force in the universe for letting go of all self control the night before.  Mycroft briefly wondered if this made him a proper student now,  a hangover being an initiation ritual. He was just so thankful that he did not have any lectures that morning, and he was going to miss that morning spin class. He doubted that it would make much difference to him, especially from the chips that he had the night before. 

He could hear Greg thumping around in the kitchen and Mycroft just bit back another groan before deciding that tea would probably make him feel better. Tea always seemed to do that and it was why Mycroft believed that it was the best thing that had come into existence. He was positive that he even had some nice biscuits in the cupboard, chocolate-covered biscuits, the only thing that was slightly better than tea itself.  Mycroft slipped on a jumper and he made his way into the kitchen, despite the fact that Greg did look a bit rough, he was rather cheerful when he noticed Mycroft in the kitchen. Greg was shirtless and had his head stuck out of the kitchen window as he smoked, Mycroft knew that it was against the university policy but he was far too hungover to complain. He would have done the same himself but he was a bit more dignified and it was far too cold to go out smoking right now.    
  
"Good morning, I am surprised that you are actually out of bed, you were reluctant to get in it," Greg commented as he removed his head from the window and he left his hand sticking out, using a  makeshift ashtray of a Harry Potter coffee mug which Mycroft had brought in when he moved.

He had a phase where he was obsessed with the series when he was eight and it accompanied his love for Star Wars when Uncle Rudy had taken him for the summer. It was his happiest summer when he was younger, Uncle Rudy took him to the theatre most nights and he was allowed to attend a drama group. Despite the fact that Rudy was an outcast in the family due to his tendency to wear woman's clothing and his rather bohemian lifestyle and the fact  Uncle Rudy had left the Holmes family in disgrace to pursue an acting and writing career in London, Mycroft also knew from a young age that Uncle Rudy's "special friend" Paul was a major cause of tension in the family.  Mycroft had a fondness for Uncle Paul, he was a nice enough man and had even taken him to the cinema to watch the Harry Potter films when they came out and he always bought him the newest book in the series when it was released, and he had recently been given the last book and the mug which Greg was using as an ashtray as early birthday gift. 

Despite the outlandish tendencies of Uncle Rudy and that was not mentioning the cross-dressing, he was Mycroft's favourite family member and was the only member of the family that he actively spoke to other than his brother. Rudy and Paul had taken him in when he had a disagreement about his life choices with his mother, and he had stayed there during his weekends home from school and he spent the holidays with them. Uncle Rudy and Paul were the only ones who did not tease him or put him down for anything and were the most supportive of him, even paid for his acting and writing classes in the summer, a pursuit that his parents would never allow him to do, in fear that he would become 'bohemian.'  They were very supportive in his choice of universities and why he did not go down the Oxbridge path right away and understood that he wanted to have a slightly 'normal,' student experience.  Paul was rather pleased that he was reading history as part of his degree, and happily paid for his textbooks and spent the summer before he started university in constant conversation about his modules and invited him to go to conferences with him. Uncle Rudy was not the most impressed that he was studying a 'sensible' degree and he had wanted him to be in the arts. Auditioning for Macbeth and joining the drama society was his compromise for Rudy, but he knew that whatever role he would get in Macbeth, Rudy would be far too enthusiastic about it, even if he was one of the trees of Birnam Wood. 

 "I've stuck on coffee and I'm going to get my hangover cure on the go. I hope that you don't mind that I've used your grill. You will thank me later for breakfast," Greg said cheerfully despite the fact that he looked rough. Mycroft did not know much about Greg's drinking habits but he had the feeling that Greg was an old-hand when it came to things like hangovers and was annoyingly able to function with one while Mycroft just wanted to go back to bed and feel sorry for himself partly for the hangover and partly because of Greg's date.   
  
Mycroft poured himself a cup of coffee from the French press and he worldlessly topped up Greg's _sex kitten_ mug.  The smell of bacon and melted cheese came from the grill and despite the fact that Mycroft had no desire to eat at all when he left his room, he felt his stomach start to growl. Greg had put out his cigarette and he had closed the window before he started to fiddle around with the grill.   
  
"What on earth happened last night?" Mycroft asked with a groan, placing his face in his hands in the attempt to avoid the light. "I did not plan to be drinking and I was meant to be going to a spin class this morning."  
  
"Well, you had a few drinks and you were fine, then things went downhill when you were on the red wine " Greg replied, his bare and muscular back to Mycroft as he plated up breakfast. "What on earth is a spin class? Sounds like something that posh women go to."  
  
Mycroft found himself admiring Greg,  despite the fact that he felt miserable. It was so much easier to do it when Greg had his back to him. He let out a groan when he had faint memories of what happened after the red wine and he wished that the ground would swallow him up. Greg had to basically escort him home and he remembered getting passionate when he found out that Greg liked music by Queen. He also remembered getting a bit upset when Greg was talking about his date with Anthea. He embarrassed himself in the pub when a poor girl tried to flirt with him out of all the people in the pub and he just had to walk away when she gave him a phone number. He had never been in that situation before and he did not even expect that someone would even notice him.   
  
"This is Lestrade's hangover special, it was a recipe which has been passed through the family," Greg announced as he placed two plates with a cheese toastie in front of him.  

"It's a cheese toastie " Mycroft replied flatly but he did accept the plate from Greg with a small smile. 

"It is not just a cheese toastie, my friend," Greg announced as he thumped down on his chair with two cans of cola. "It is a famous family hangover cure which has been passed around for generations. A cheese toastie with Marmite, bacon and sausage, and you have to drink it down with a can of cola, it is a shame that I couldn't get Irn Bru, that helped me stave off a terrible hangover when I was in Edinburgh Fringe. That was a weekend and a half, I ended up in Perth somehow, never been to the place before then.  "  
  
"This is not something that I would normally engage in, but I have the feeling that I really embarrassed myself," Mycroft murmured as he cracked open the tin of diet cola that Greg pushed in his direction. It would hardly save him from the calories of the breakfast that Greg made, but it was at least an attempt. He ripped into the toastie and took a massive bite out of it, he enjoyed it but he feared that it would be something that he would enjoy too much. He would only allow himself to have this on the rare occasions that he was hungover.  

Greg looked pleased when he saw his reaction, Mycroft had decided that on that moment, that he would try and make Greg smile like that. He would make it his life mission, even if it did mean that he would have to eat so many fattening toasties to do it. 

"So what was the damage from last night then?" Mycroft asked with a sigh when he saw that Greg looked desperate to tell him something. "I don't even know how you can be even the slightest bit happy, I do recall that you were drinking as well. Aren't you meant to be going out tonight as well?" Mycroft sighed when he remembered the dreaded date with Anthea.   
  
"I'm an old hand at this thing, Myc, " Greg replied through a mouthful of toastie. "I did spend a good bit of this morning not able to get out of bed, thankfully, I managed to get a mate to cover a shift for me in the canteen. I'm getting too old to be doing shots these days, they are always trouble. I'm also convinced that Red Wine is what does it for you as well, the first rule of drinking, never mix your drinks." 

"What is the second rule then?" Mycroft asked, wondering where he could get a copy of the drinking rule book, and if it was in the library but he had the feeling that it was a fictional publication. 

"Don't embarrass yourself too much when you have been drinking red wine," Greg replied with a wink. "It was a bit of a shock to see you last night, I don't know if you had a rough day at work or course work is getting you down or whatever."  Greg had a serious look on his face for a moment, it was one of concern and Mycroft did not enjoy the look of it. It seemed almost unnatural on  Greg's beautiful features and he did not want to see it again. "Drinking isn't the best way to deal with your problems, there are people that you can talk to if uni is getting a bit too much."

"No, I'm fine, everything is fine, " Mycroft replied briskly, he did not like people being concerned about him at all. He had a lot of things on his mind recently, mostly Sherlock related things but they did not make him feel that he had to drink.  The session last night was brought out of pity for himself that Greg was straight and that he was going on a date with his co-worker.  "I guess that I was just that excited that it was Friday and I was having such a good time with you, Greg." 

Greg nodded but he looked a little unconvinced, but he did put the smile on his face again. "You can be so funny when you are drunk, you are so much happier when you've had a few in you. You were even giggly at one point. I never would have thought that you would like Star Wars, you were going on about how awful Attack of The Clones was."  
  
Mycroft let out a sigh of relief as Greg spoke, he was worried that he would have been moaning about Greg's dating life once he had been drinking.  "My uncle's partner enjoys Star Wars and Lord of The Rings, and other similar series, I was forced to watch them when I was younger when I stayed over during the holidays or the occasional weekend when I was at boarding school, basically a requirement to have a roof under my head," Mycroft said fondly, as he remembered staying up past his bedtime with Paul to watch Indiana Jones, he believed that it was half the reason he loved history so much. 

Greg nodded enthusiastically at this detail about him. Mycroft had already known that Greg loved Star Wars, he had noticed a Lego model of the Millennium Falcon on his desk during the first week of term when he was giving Greg a lecture about suitable printer usage, as he was rather kind to allow Greg to use his printer. 

"What else happened then?" Mycroft asked with a sigh as he pinched his nose in the attempt to alleviate the throb behind his eyes. 

"You were also complaining about your diet going badly as you were eating chips," Greg snorted out a laugh, "That's why I gave you the diet cola, just so it could help wash away some of your sins from last night. We stayed in the pub until closing time and then I had to basically tuck you in last night, you were getting so upset when I had girls flirting with me and then when that poor girl flirted with you, it was tragic." Greg wiped away tears from his eyes, and he tried to apologise for laughing but it was a lost cause. 

Mycroft felt his ears burning and he could not even look at Greg right now, he had been hoping that he had not run his mouth too much after a few drinks. He could recall a few nice looking girls flirting with Greg, and he felt rather possessive of him, especially when he caught a glimpse of one of his classmates from his history lectures, a tall and muscular redhead called Conner, obviously looking at Greg. It had given Mycroft more reason to dislike him, Connor always turned up to class ten minutes late and never gave back his pens when he borrowed them. 

"I suppose that you are in shock when that girl gave you her phone number, you basically ran away from her like she had the plague," Greg chortled, "She is going to feel so embarrassed after that, you were clearly not intrested in her at all. Especially since you are-"  
  


Mycroft felt that this conversation was getting into dangerous territory, and he just wanted to make his excuses and leave.  "What makes you think that I wasn't intrested in her at all?" Mycroft replied defensively. "I'm not anything." 

"Well, you reminded me of Bambi on ice as you tried to leave when she gave you her number," Greg said cautiously, "You did also tell her that her jumper was horrendous."  

"So, that does not mean anything, " Mycroft replied, he tried to look for his packet of cigarettes so that it would give him the excuse to leave, but he stood up and he threw the toastie in the bin. "I need to go and have a shower." 

Greg stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder and basically forced Mycroft to look at him. "I don't know why you are acting like it is a big deal that you are, it's not like what it was ten years ago-"

Mycroft tried to give Greg and intimidating look, clearly telling him to  _back off_.   

Greg pulled his hand away from his shoulder and held them out defensively, "I'm going to assume that you are just too hungover to be having this conversation. I'm sorry if I've upset you."  
  
Mycroft nodded, wrapping his arms tightly around himself as he made his excuse for needing a shower once more as he left the shared kitchen which suddenly felt a lot more claustrophobic than before. He went into his room once he had a shower and started to pack himself a small bag that he could take to Uncle Rudy's for a few days. A paranoid feeling took over him as he wondered how many people actually knew, he hadn't given anything away to Greg about his personal life. He feared that he had perhaps said something when he had been drinking the night before.   
  
Rudy was going to pick him up after his morning meeting at the theatre and had allowed him to stay for as long as he needed. Mycroft had his own bedroom with Rudy and Paul in their house which was just outside London, he spent more time in it than his bedroom in his parent's house, having. He had murmured on the phone that he was having troubles with student accommodation and that he was finding it hard to study, and he was needing to use the National Archives for his essay.  He knew that it would be best if he did that, he did not want Greg to feel awkward around him now and he just wanted to feel sorry for himself. He knew that it would childish and he hoped that Greg would forget this conversation. He knew that being gay was not a big deal these days and he was in London of all places, but it felt a bit too real if Greg and other people knew. He didn't want any more ammunition to get teased, and it was good to just suppress it, it had gotten him into trouble so many times in the past. 

* * *

Mycroft was sitting on the stairs smoking, a black umbrella was used to shelter him from the rain. He would have hidden under the smoking shelter but unfortunately, the roof leaked and it was impossible to avoid drops of rain.  Rudy was meant to pick him up soon and he was waiting for the sight of Paul's Fiat in the car park, it had given him adequate time to go and smoke. He had gone through four cigarettes already, and he was almost entering the territory of chain-smoking. He fumbled around his pocket for the packet of Polo mints, they would hopefully disguise his smoking from Paul, who would always give him lectures about smoking, and he hoped that he did not look too rough now in order to spare himself the lecture.   
  


He knew that leaving was probably rather immature but he needed to just be on his own, student accommodation was rather claustrophobic and it was impossible to get some time alone. He needed to have a few days where he did not need to think about Sherlock or Greg, and just to focus on his course work.  He had given Greg the vauge excuse of needing to go and learn his lines in peace and that he had to visit an archive for his history essay. He thankfully did not need to worry about Sherlock, he had gone home apparently and was currently working on his coursework, according to the housekeeper when he phoned.  

Mycroft was driven out of his thoughts when he felt Greg's presence next to him, despite the fact that he was annoyed with Greg, he did move the umbrella to help shelter him from the rain. A part of him just wanted to avoid Greg, but he could not make himself move right now. Greg's hand on his back felt heavy but he could not make himself move it. 

"I'm sorry if I've upset you, somehow," Greg murmured quietly, placing a hand on Mycroft's knee and giving it a tight squeeze. "I don't like seeing you this upset, and I hate to be the reason that you are going home."

"I've got an essay to write and I'm needing the archive," Mycroft replied quickly with a sigh, as he tapped his cigarette to get rid of the ash. "Don't flatter yourself, thinking that you've upset me. I'm fine. " 

"I know that you are fine, Myc, "Greg replied with a sigh of his own. "I just don't want you to be upset, it was so nice to see you so happy last night. I should have kept my dammed mouth shut, that's my problem. I never know when I should keep my mouth closed."

"I'm honestly fine, Greg," Mycroft managed to lie easily. "I'm going to be back in the next few days, I'll still be auditioning for the show. I'm needing to see my family, anyway."  
  
"Is your mum coming to pick you up?" Greg asked as he shuffled in closer to avoid the rain.  

"My mum does not want to have anything to do with me, " Mycroft murmured out and it was almost painful admitting it. "My dad is more willing to speak to me, but he wouldn't want to get into trouble with my mum. " 

"Shit," Greg murmured, "Please tell me that someone is going to get you and you are not just sitting outside in this weather to have a sulk?"

"My uncle is coming to pick me up, I live with him when I am not here," Mycroft confessed, squinting his eyes so he could try and spot a red fiat, just so he didn't have to be in this situation for much longer. He checked his watch, he still had half an hour before Rudy was going to be there, he had been sitting outside as an excuse to avoid Greg and just to smoke. 

Greg nodded and he sighed, giving Mycroft's knee a tight squeeze. it was so difficult being around Greg at times, Greg clearly came from a family where affection was freely given and he thrived off physical contact. He was not afraid to clap him on the shoulder or be close to him. Greg had slept with his head on Mycroft's lap recently, as they had studied lines for Macbeth, and the exhaustion of his multiple jobs had caught upon him.  

"Is he is going to be much longer?" Greg asked after a few moments of deafening silence. 

Mycroft shrugged his shoulders as he put out his cigarette on the step and he was half tempted to pull out another, just so his hands and mouth were kept busy. 

"You can go back inside," Mycroft murmured once he found his voice eventually.  "I'll be fine out here, my uncle shouldn't be  much longer."

Greg shook his head, "I would rather be out here with you, we can wait inside the kitchen for your uncle. I can stick the kettle on, and we can talk or sit in silence?" 

Mycroft nodded with a sigh before he stood up from the step, hesitating a few moments before following Greg into the kitchen. He wordlessly accepted the cup of tea that Greg passed to him and he felt the need to apologise for getting upset. It was so immature for him to get so emotional over something, he would hate to imagine what Greg would think of him now. Greg was still trying to be kind, but Mycroft was not sure if he was only doing it out of pity. Mycroft stared at the window, watching raindrops race another down to the bottom of the glass, just so he didn't have to look at Greg, who had a concerned look on his face.

"I'm really sorry that if I've upset you," Greg finally spoke, challenging the presence of the elephant which was in the room.  "I know that it can be a bit of a touchy subject  and I was only teasing, mate."

"How long have you known?" Mycroft finally asked, his voice barely a whisper after a few moments of deafening silence. He felt that he was going to be sick and he was sure that he had gone pale. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose, waiting for Greg to shout and to tell him to get out of the student accommodation on a permanent basis.  He wanted to just leave, for the ground to swallow him up from the kitchen table, and he felt that the kitchen walls were closing in on him. 

"I've always had my thoughts, to be honest," Greg finally confessed, his back to Mycroft as he poured two glasses of Jack Daniels and Coke, making Mycroft's up with diet coke.  Mycroft felt like he needed something stronger, or at least the drink to be made unmixed.  He was glad that Greg had a similar thought process as him, knowing that it was a conversation that would be much easier to have not sober.  He passed the glass to Mycroft, who quickly downed the glass to see if it gave him any courage, Greg performed the same action before he made two more drinks. Mycroft had never approved of day drinking and he had always thought that it was awfully _common_ to be doing so, but that notion just felt irrelevant now, and he wordlessly picked up his tumbler from the table. 

"You never brought any girls home and you never seemed that interested in them either," Greg said, sitting down next to Mycroft. "Plus, you just really love the theatre and the clothes, and the hair product and the face creams."

"You like the theatre," Mycroft protested lightly, even though there was not much point in denying it much more and he did pour down his drink. He was not wanting to remember having this conversation for the rest of his life. 

"You know what I mean, Myc," Greg murmured, "You also play the Les Mis soundtrack all the time when you are alone and you sing it in the shower. Half the time I couldn't figure it out. I wasn't sure if you did or liked certain things because you were posh or that you were gay.  I'm not trying to say that you are a stereotype but you do 'ping the gaydar,' like what my mum would say. My brother was the exact same, he went to ballet classes, but he really liked football and cars."  
  
Mycroft sighed and placed his head in his hands in the attempt to stop his eyes from watering. He hated himself for getting so upset over something as pointless as sexuality. He knew that the world was still going to turn and it was so irrelevant to the state of things, especially as the country was still in shambles after the recession. He just did not understand why it felt so important right now and why it did upset him, he was barely upset when his mother told him to pack a bag after the trifle after that eventful dinner. 

"Mycroft, there is no need to get upset about it, mate," Greg wrapped a strong arm around him and rubbed his arm. "You're gay, it's not a big deal and you are in London, people can be or do whoever they want in these parts. I know that it's tough, but it is going to be a lot better."

"So you are not wanting me to leave?" Mycroft asked, looking up from his hands. He could feel his eyes burning and wetness on his cheeks, he tried to scold himself for getting so upset. Greg would think that he was being a right state.  

"You know that for a genius, you are really thick at times," Greg snorted as he passed Mycroft a packet of tissues. "I don't see why anyone being gay would bother me, plus my brother liked blokes and we were in a rough estate, no one dared to mess with him because of it. It also helped that he was the biggest and strongest one out of all the kids there and that he was really good at football, everyone wanted him during the five-a-side football matches."

A feeling of relief washed through Mycroft and he felt that he could breathe for the first time in his life, he smiled despite his watery eyes, and he tried to apologise for his tears but Greg was not wanting any of it and had told him in the kindest way to stop talking. 

"Have you told anyone else ?" Greg asked as Mycroft was splashing his face with water, he would hate for Rudy to know that he had been crying, and it would be so embarrassing, Rudy always made such a fuss over him, almost as he if he was compensating for the lack of affection from his mother. "I know that it can be tough, telling people. If anyone else says something against it here, they will have to deal with me first."  
  


"My brother apparently knew that I was gay the moment that he discovered what the word meant," Mycroft murmured as he sat back down at the table and he finished off his drink. "My mum on the other hand basically accused me of trying to destroy the family and basically told me to get out after pudding, as I was ruining Sunday lunch for her and I was going to embarrass her as everyone would be apparently talking about it, as the members of the country club and the neighbours would apparently know."

Mycroft took a deep breath and he closed his eyes, he had never spoken about this before, not even to Rudy but he had the feeling that Rudy knew that the fight was about especially after finding him by the gates of the house soaked in the rain. When he was asked what happened, he had brushed it off his concerns saying that it was a fight over politics and how he was voting for the Lib Dems and that he wasn't going to church again. It was a poor lie, but it was enough to quell Rudy's questions, even though Rudy looked unconvinced before he started asking about what they should have for dinner that evening and if he wanted to get a new desk for the guest bedroom that he slept in. 

Greg squeezed his hand tightly and when Mycroft opened up his eyes, Greg was giving him a small and encouraging smile. "What about your dad? Do you still speak to him?"

"My dad believes that I'm going through a phase and that it is a result of me going to boarding school and my limited contact with _females_. He thought that it was a good idea to send me to an all-boys school when I started displaying homosexual tendencies. He had a chat with me in his office when I was fourteen and he believed that my previous school was 'too modern,' and that the school he went to would straighten me out."  Mycroft let out a bitter laugh despite himself at his father's logic and his intention. It was at the all-boys school that he had first kissed a boy and the environment seemed to encourage his tendencies especially after joining the drama club. He did not have the best time in school or friendship, but the drama club had become a refuge and he had even had a few acquaintances there, boys like him.  "He does speak to me occasionally and he gives me money, but he doesn't visit in fear of my mother. He is under the belief that I'm going to be heterosexual once I've finished university unlike my mother's brother, who just became even more flamboyant and dropped out of university to be an actor."  
  
"That is bloody awful, who could do that to their own child?" Greg just looked disgusted once Mycroft discussed his family life and how his parents had treated him. Greg seemed to get even more furious and he had started pacing the kitchen as Mycroft recounted that Sunday lunch to him and how he ended up living with Rudy and  Paul full time. Greg seemed to be even more furious and worked up about it than Mycroft had ever been. He had stayed in his room the first few days that he had moved in with Rudy permanently.  Paul had made him visit a councillor the several days after the event but that was short-lived after he had made Dr Vickery cry after the first-half hour.  He had repressed the event down and placed it in a drawer in his Mind Palace, unable to delete it or forget, unfortunately, the experience was still rather raw and had an impact. He had reluctantly brought it up with his current psychologist, Dr Miller always found it to be interesting and she usually brought the event up in their sessions.

Mycroft tried to understand Greg's reaction of anger, it was not an expression that he had really witnessed from Greg before. He and Greg had squabbled before and they had fights over the shared fridge and the dishes, but it was nothing compared to how Greg was acting. Greg seemed to be angry despite the fact that he was not their during the Sunday lunch, almost like he was expressing the anger that Mycroft suppressed from the event. Mycroft wondered if the event touched a nerve, perhaps it made him think of his brother? Or it was something personal that Greg did not want to talk about. He was never good at deducing Greg, he seemed to struggle with deducing him compared to everyone else. It never happened before and he stopped trying after the first few minutes of meeting him.  He had been following Rudy's advice on not deducing people that he was going to live with and it was better to get to know them organically,

"What about your uncle? At least he has taken you in and looked after you?" Greg asked once he had calmed down and he had sat back down. 

"I've never formally told him but I am positive that he knows, Rudy does have an unconventional lifestyle and he's in a civil partnership with his 'special friend,' Paul as my dad would say," Mycroft let out a watery sigh and he wiped down his face and he turned to face Greg and he gave him a small smile. It was a slight relief to actually tell someone and for them not to overreact, it was a weight off his shoulders and he was positive that this is how strong friendships were made. He had read it in a women's magazine at the dentist. 

"I've got to meet this uncle of yours," Greg commented, slapping him hard on the back of the shoulder, the false cheerful behaviour was evident especially after the anger that he displayed minutes before. Mycroft never considered himself to be a master of understanding emotions but he was sure that Greg was  _pissed off_ still, as Greg would say.  "Right, feeling any better? Perhaps this means that you are less of a drama queen now when a poor girl tries to give you her phone number in the pub." 

"Much better, thank you," Mycroft tried to do a similar action but he was not the best with physical contact and what he was meant to do, so instead, he just grabbed Greg's hand for a second and gave it a quick squeeze, that was what Rudy did when he was upset and he was comforting him. "It is a bit of a relief, to be honest, I don't even know why it bothered me so much. I'm a bit more embarrassed about crying in front of you. You are the least likely person who I thought would be fine with this, everyone else I ever told wasn't and it was boys like you in school that would bully me."

"Boy's like me?" Greg asked with a raised eyebrow. 

"You know, good looking, athletic and popular," Mycroft replied with a shrug, "I'm glad that I was wrong." 

Greg nodded understandingly, and there was nothing to be said about the matter. 

 "I think that's your uncle's car, a red one in the parking area,"  Greg pointed out after a few moments, "Go and have fun in your archive, I'm expecting to see you at that audition tomorrow. I know that you are going to be brilliant."

Mycroft slipped on his coat and picked up his overnight bag, "I did write my name down on the sheet,  and with your belief in my acting abilities, I will make sure to be there."  Mycroft clapped Greg on the shoulder this time and he squeezed it for a second, like what Greg did for him. "I'm going to be fine, thank you for being so kind. I'm not leaving forever, I'll be back for Monday lecturers. Enjoy this time without me, you probably miss a time when I wasn't complaining about you not cleaning and excessive printer usage."

"I'm going to love not hearing the Les Mis soundtrack all the time, " Greg snorted, "I'll probably miss you, I'm not going to have anyone to moan to."

"I'm only going to be a half-hour outside London, it's not like I've been exiled to another country," Mycroft rolled his eyes but he appreciated the sentiment. "We do have phones and I'm going to be at university tomorrow for my audition. My uncle is probably fed up of waiting for me, I need to go." 

Greg was reluctant to let him leave the kitchen for a moment, he was probably feeling guilty that he heavily encouraged him to come out and that he was going to his uncle's for a few days. He was originally going because of Greg, but it would be nice to visit his family and it would mean that he would have ample time to use the archives without needing to worry about getting trains or buses back to university and having to cook for himself or deal with Greg's latest culinary experiment.   "I'm actually fine, Greg, honestly,  I've not seen my uncles in a month or so, they'be been begging me for a visit." 

Greg nodded and he gave him a small smile, as he walked with him down the stairs to the door. "You know, I don't mind going to a bar or a club that is more your scene, I know that you must get so bored in a normal pub. I'll have a browse to see where we can go to,  I'll even help you get a nice boyfriend for you."

Mycroft gave him a tight smile, and he was wanting to mutter that it was completely unnecessary for Greg to do that, but he would be more willing to go if Greg was there. He waved to Greg as he left for the car, feeling the happiest that he had felt since he had started university.

 

When he had come back to his room the next day, in order to prepare for his Macbeth audion, several leaflets were one his desk. There was a few for local gay clubs in the area, with one that had a massive circle and exclamation points on it, as it advertised half-priced drinks and two-for-one cocktails.  Among the other leaflets, there was one for the university's LGBTQ support group and an LGBTQ film society. There was a large circle and exclamation marks on this one as well, just to highlight that they were showing _The Empire Strikes Back_.  Mycroft doubted that he would even go to these clubs or the university groups, but it was a small gesture which spoke thousands of words, and it suggested that maybe everything was going to be  _okay_ .

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologise for a long gap between chapters and it was a very Holmes based chapter this update, but I did enjoy writing it. Mycroft's experience was partly based on my own and it was based off a story from a friend, especially with part if his friend didn't know if he was just posh or gay. The cheese toastie was based off a hangover cure which would be made at work after every staff night out, but instead of Marmite, it was pickle/chutney which would be used instead. 
> 
> I'm still trying to work on my characterisation for Sherlock, I dislike having him being a bratty younger brother and him being so mean, but he is so fun to write though. 
> 
> I should hope to update soon, with Mycroft's audition and a few more fun bits and pieces, but I was wanting to get a rather heavy topic over and done with, in order to get the story moving.


	5. Dates, Glasses, and Macbeth Auditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You should keep them on," Greg said, grabbing hold on his arm as if he could keep him in place. "I wasn't wanting to make fun of you. It's just that you... suit them. They make you look all academic and professional and they just look...great." 
> 
> "Oh," Mycroft adjuted his glasses and straightened out his jumper. It was probably the first time that he had ever been complimented on his appearance by someone other than Rudy. "That's very kind of you, Greg." 
> 
> He cleared his throat and he inspected his face in the window before he left and he tried to smooth down his hair and pat it into place. He sighed as his ears were a different shade of pink than they were normally. 
> 
> He wasn't sure if he was meant to give a compliment back, he did not know if it was something that friends did for another or not. "You look rather nice too, Gregory. I like the jacket, it makes you look very... rugged and handsome."

_30th of September._

Greg was nervous to see Mycroft again the next day, Mycroft was meant to be in halls for about two. Even though Mycroft had insisted that things were fine and that he was okay, several times both in conversation and through text, a thick and heavy feeling of guilt settled in his stomach and it seemed to grow as he kept replaying the events of breakfast in his head. He had really pushed Mycroft too far and pushed the boundaries of their friendship. He knew that Mycroft did not enjoy talking about his personal life, he would always brush off questions that Greg had tried to ask in the attempt to know him in the first few days.  He understood fully why Mycroft had been reluctant to share information about his private and personal life. He knew that Mycroft would not want the fuss that he had experienced when people found out who was attracted to and he would certainly not want the pity which people would give him when they found out about why he did not speak to his family.  
  
Greg could imagine what it was like for Mycroft at that Sunday dinner, he had witnessed a similar fight when Jamie had decided to come out. He was sent to his room and he could just remember all of the screaming and shouting, mum was crying but it was not because Jamie was gay.  It was the night that their father had decided to clear off and it was the last time that Greg had seen him. He had been sleeping around with a woman from work for the last few years, and Jamie coming out was the straw that broke the camel's back he couldn't cope with having a 'poof' for a son.  His dad had been in contact a few times since, only knowing that his dad had married the woman from work and they had a family together now. Hopefully, he was a better father to this family than the one that he walked away from. Jamie had taken the affair and dad storming out personally, and everything seemed to go wrong from there. 

It was not much of a surprise that his brother was gay, Greg idolised his older brother far too much to even care. Jamie could not do anything wrong in his eyes and he was always the first one to defend Jamie when the boys in school teased him for being related to Jamie.  Jamie was often picked on as he was not rowdy like the other boys in his class, and he took ballet lessons and his friends were girls and they would play with dolls and dress up together.  Greg was not bothered by it at all, and he would accompany Jamie to his ballet lessons after school when mum was working and dad was probably in the pub. He would work on his homework and watch Jamie and the other girls do barre exercises and twirl around in tutus, Jamie always insisted on wearing one as well. He followed Jamie everywhere and was almost like his shadow, they would play football together with the other kids on the estate, he would accompany Jamie to his drama lessons after school and on the weekend. He had been too shy to join in but he just enjoyed watching Jamie, it was the only time that he was really happy.

When Jamie was in college and he had his first part-time job, he was taken to London for the day and they would visit the Globe Theatre to watch Shakesphere and they would visit all the free shows in the summer and have chips. When Jamie was in university, he took Greg to gay bars and even to a drag show once, Jamie had a friend who was performing and they were allowed to go in without tickets. Greg remembered those nights fondly, he could remember watching Jamie dance freely and meeting Jamie's boyfriend. It was a novelty watching two men kiss, hold hands and even dance together.  He had never seen it before and Greg can remember the sense of longing that he felt. He kissed someone the last time that he was at a bar with Jamie. He had a few drinks in him and he can't remember his name. He can remember the smell of aftershave and how he was pushed up against a wall outside the club and how he had fingers pulling his hair. It was different from kissing girls but he enjoyed it. He never told anyone about it, not even Jamie.   He did think about kissing a man when he was sober, but he didn't want to embarrass himself and he did not know how to go about it.

Occasionally, Greg would see traces of Jamie in Mycroft, he had first started to notice them when he had walked past Mycroft sitting outside on the steps reading a textbook and smoking. He would often find his brother sitting outside, usually by an old bus stop outside the flat, Jamie would be smoking while reading a thick novel from the library. He didn't know if Mycroft would like Jamie, and Jamie would probably tease Mycroft. They did have a similar quiet nature, but his brother had deserted it when he moved to London. Mycroft had a similar smile to Jamie, and he was prone to the low moods that Jamie had experienced. He never confronted Mycroft about them, he didn't know if it was his place to do so and he didn't want to bother Mycroft when he wanted to be left alone. He had tried to speak to Mycroft when he seemed a bit down, but Mycroft always insisted that he was just tired and he was studying. He was more withdrawn than normal the evening before and forced himself to be extra chatty and smile when he eventually came out of his room.

Greg always made a flask of tea for him, a sandwich and a plate of biscuits by the door. It was the most that he could do without intruding and pushing the boundaries too much. He had left a leaflet for student support on the plate the last time that he thought that Mycroft was down. He always kept his door open just in case Mycroft needed to talk. Occasionally, Mycroft would go into his room and perch on the bed, they would chat about random things. He felt that Mycroft felt obliged to do so, once Greg had introduced Mycroft as his friend when he was chatting to some classmates.  Greg doubted that Mycroft would be exactly like Jamie, as he was always in the kitchen the day after a low mood, offering to make him tea. He didn't expect Jamie to do what he did though, no one had expected it, not from Jamie of all people. 

Greg had found himself disappointed when he did not see Mycroft at the kitchen table that morning before he went off to work. He had grown used to to the sight of Mycroft surrounded by textbooks in his dressing gown in the early hours of the morning. There was always a cup of tea waiting for him to throw down his throat before he went off to the canteen to help prepare for breakfast service.  He was thrown off that morning, and the day seemed to drag, not even John's stories about his brilliant new friend could make the time pass, as the two of them cleaned bacon fat from trays and scrubbed off the burnt on scrambled egg from pots. 

He kept replaying the conversation over breakfast with Mycroft, wondering if there was something that he could have done to make things right. He had scrubbed the kitchen clean for Mycroft the night before, making sure that the kitchen table was spotless for Mycroft to work on. He had brought extra tea bags and the nice biscuits from the shop that Mycroft liked before he went around the university to find leaflets for clubs and bars that Mycroft might be intrested in. He knew that he did not need to apologise any more but he wanted to make sure that Mycroft knew that he was supportive and to make up for basically forcing him to come out.  Seeing Mycroft cry, made him seem more human. It was the most emotion that he had gotten out of Mycroft other than laughter. He knew that it was a big deal to see Mycroft that human. It wasn't like Mycroft was in danger though, he had assured him countless times that he was fine and that seeing his family would help things. 

Greg tried to believe him. He knew that Mycroft's family would be able to do more than he could ever do. He tried to push the thought of Jamie out of his mind, forcing a smile on his face as John was telling the story about Sherlock's experiment on eyeballs.

* * *

He only had twenty minutes after work to get ready for his date with Amanda, or whatever her name was. Greg was half tempted to just send a text and cancel, he really could not be bothered and he was going as a favour for Sally, as she had given him notes for the two lectures that he missed due to work.  Greg was a gentleman though, and he decided that going out would take his mind off things, but he did book an appointment to see Alex and he needed to phone his mum. He did need to see if she was okay and he hadn't phoned for several days, it was Jamie's birthday soon. He should probably try and visit, even if he had been putting it off for a while. 

He had chosen a local coffee shop to go to, it was small and warm, and cheap. He had a friend from football who worked there, and he always got staff discount and extra cakes.  He managed to get the worst of the egg smell away from him in the shower, dressing in his nicest white shirt and jeans. Greg threw on his well-worn leather jacket and shoved a packet of cigarettes and his wallet in the pocket. The jacket was his brothers, and it felt like a shame to get rid of it, especially as it cost Jamie a small fortune. Jamie had spent the whole summer washing people's cars, weeding gardens and doing odd jobs for the neighbours and the pensioners who their gran knew. The jacket was slightly too big for him and it still faintly smelt of the horrid cigarettes that his brother used to like, Greg wore it regardless.

Arianna, or whatever her name was, had her eyes glued to her phone when Greg had walked into the coffee shop. She looked up from her phone and rolled her eyes, as he introduced himself and shook her hand. He felt so underdressed compared to her, she had agreed to meet up with him on her lunch break from the office, but he could tell that the black dress that she wore wasn't from M&S, but it was probably bought at an eye-watering price.  He tried to do the awkward small-talk, asking her about her day and the weather of all things. He knew that this date was going to be a dud, especially the way that she looked at him when he put five sugars in his tea, while Amanda, or Anthea, as he learned, drank her tea black with no sugar. 

Greg cursed Sally silently when he soon realised that he had run out of topics to discuss, and Anthea was too polite to just say that she wasn't intrested. She was texting rapidly under the table, she was probably texting Sally what Greg was thinking. 

"You are in university?" Anthea asked suddenly, it was more of a statement than a question. "You are in the same class with Sally?"

Greg was taken by surprise when she finally spoke and he looked up from his plate of biscuits. "We are in the same criminology lecture and we have a sociology lecture together. We've been friends since we were kids though. How do you know, Sally? Are you in uni?"

Anthea looked up at him and had the same thoughtful look that Mycroft often had on his face. "I'm having a gap year before I go to Cambridge, I was wanting to get some work experience and money before I apply." Anthea replied, "Sally and I used to go horse riding together when we were younger."

She seemed reluctant to share information about herself, Greg was not sure if Anthea was actually her name especially as she seemed to hesitate before she spoke.  It wasn't out of shyness, but almost as if she was thinking about every word and how she would craft each sentence.

"I'm studying politics and sociology, I'm hoping to transfer to criminology though," Greg said after a moment of silence. "I'm only getting through the political class so far because of my friend. He is a genius and I only go to class, as he basically drags me there." 

"One of my colleagues, studies politics, economics and history, at the same university as you. You might be in a lecture with him," Anthea smirked at her phone as she typed. "He was the one who suggested that I go out with you. He's really good at reading people and he can tell where someone works due to their tie, and what people are like just from a photo. I make him look at pictures of people before I go on dates."

Greg let out a nervous chuckle which he hid with a sip of tea. "Wonder what he said about me? I guess that Sally used the motorbike picture? She says that it's the best picture of me. I usually have my eyes closed in most pictures." 

"He told me that you would be funny and you would be an 'amazing conversationalist,' apparently," Anthea replied with a shrug. "He said that you were going to be my type, but I do prefer men who know my name, Graham." 

She smirked and brushed her hair out of her face, it was the most emotion that she had openly given him other than the smile she flashed when he walked in. Anthea put her phone on the table and just looked rather pleased with herself and was smirking at a thought in her head, Greg never had the chance to ask before she spoke.  "I can't wait to tell the great Mycroft Holmes that he was wrong for the first time in his life. It's a shame that he isn't there to experience this, would have loved to see his face.  "

Greg choked on the biscuit that he was nibbling on at the mention of Mycroft's name, spraying biscuits over Anthea's expensive black dress. "You know Mycroft?!" He coughed. "Mycroft is one of my mates and we live together!"

"Thought that he knew far too much about you, he gave too many details when he was talking about you. You can't tell that someone doesn't do the washing up just from a picture," Anthea replied with an amused look on her face. "What is he like to live with? He's always moaning about things in the office, always complains about having to get me 'stupid beverages from stupid coffee shops,' when he is on the coffee run," Anthea said, mimicking Mycroft's accent, but she seemed to be fond him, especially as she smiled when talking about him. 

"He's not too bad if I have to be honest, " Greg replied with a shrug. "We had a bit of a squabble at the start, but people do when they live with someone else. It's a pretty domestic thing that we've got going on, I do the cooking, as he can't do more than use a kettle and microwave now, but he does the washing up. He's tried to cook before, but I've banned him from using the oven, he tends to get lost in his work. I'm buying him a fire extinguisher for Christmas." Greg chuckled to himself, it was honestly his favourite part of the day, and it helped with the homesickness. He had taken bad last night with Mycroft being gone and he had his microwave meal for one in front of the telly. 

"He always makes you sound like you came from hell, especially when he first started uni, especially as he kept going on about how you never bought milk and left a mess. He did go on about revoking your printer privileges as punishment as you left plates in the sink," Anthea replied with an amused look on her face.  

"Did he ever tell you about the lecture that he gave me about my excessive use of paperclips and staples? He had about a heart-attack when I had used three staples to make sure that the essay I was handing in was together. He claimed that it was 'scruffy,' and then he nearly sobbed when he saw the state of my ring binders and how my papers were uneven."

Anthea let out a light chuckle and shoved her phone in her pocket as she put her jacket on. She hadn't looked at her phone in ten minutes, it must have been a world record for her. 

"He is a bit of tosser, but Mycroft is just so lovely," Anthea replied, the fond tone in her voice crept in. "He would be so embarrassed if I let you know this, but he was just so lovely when I found out that my ex broke up with me. He thought that it would be a good idea to phone me at work. I ended up crying at my desk and Mycroft was there to witness it. He didn't say anything but he made me tea all day without asking and even went to this fancy bakery during his lunch break, got me this slice of chocolate cake.  He even loaned me his umbrella as it was pouring down, I'm sure that he would have even walked me to the tube if I let him. It was the kindest thing that someone has ever done for me, he is such a gem."

"Yeah, he's something alright," Greg murmured as he held the door open for Anthea. It made him wonder if Mycroft would ever do something like that for him. He felt that with Mycroft, actions did speak louder and they allowed him to say what he was unable to. 

Greg hoped that the clean kitchen and the leaflets on Mycroft's desk, allowed him to say to Mycroft that he was sorry and that he was cared for and accepted by him. It was a lot easier than trying to say it.

* * *

Mycroft had been nervous for the audition, it was easier to admit that he was nervous for his audition than about seeing Greg, he did not want anything to change between them, and have Greg walking around eggshells around him. Greg had apologised so many times after breakfast the day before, but he did not understand why he felt the name to. After the initial reaction of coming out to him, he had felt fine and less weighed down by it. He could almost describe it as freeing if he was feeling rather romantic about the notion. 

The evening with Rudy and Paul had done him a lot of good, and it helped to quell the feeling of homesickness. He had been reluctant to contact them on the first few days after moving in, Paul was in a conference in America, and he had Rudy had used to occasion as an excuse to go on holiday to celebrate their anniversary and it felt unfair to bother them. He had told them that he was gay that evening, feeling inspired after telling someone earlier. They weren't that phased, with Rudy claiming that he should have sat Mycroft down when he was fifteen, held his hand and tell him that he was going to be gay. Rudy was more enthusiastic about the Macbeth audition and they had spent the evening going over his audition and how he should do his blocking and recite his lines, while Paul went to 'walk Rupert,' their dog, and came back with leaflets on men's sexual health and awkwardly shoved them under his bedroom door. He had even tried to give him the talk in the car as he dropped him off to the halls of residence.

Mycroft sighed when he noticed leaflets on his desk, wondering if Paul had managed to sneak into his room with them when he was 'walking Rupert.' he knew that it wasn't Paul's doing when he noticed that the kitchen was clean and that among the leaflets, were ones for night clubs, something that Paul detested, only putting up with going to them when younger because of Rudy. He smiled to himself as he got himself ready for his audition and replying to Rudy's anxious texts about his audition and what outfit that he should wear, instructing him to wear the nice blue jumper which brought out the colour in his eyes.  He was wearing his glasses for once, he had needed glasses since he was thirteen, but he was convinced that tortious shell frames did little for his face, he had forgotten his lenses and he only had an outdated prescription for them at home.  He was usually reluctant to wear the piece of plastic on his face, as Sherlock teased him horribly for them.

Greg was at his door just as he was sending his last text to Rudy and was about to change out of his glasses. Greg looked at him with a slightly stunned look on his face before coughing slightly, as if he was trying to clear his throat. "Just wanted to see how you were? How was the archive?"

Mycroft adjusted the frames on his face, pushing them up on his nose with his hand, as he stood up from his bed. "I was useful, enlightening." He walked over to the desk and leaned on it, making the R2D2 pencil holder shift slightly.  "I was surprised that the kitchen was so clean, I was convinced that you had either hired a maid or that I had gone to the wrong floor."

Greg did not say anything for a moment and still had that strange look on his face, and there was some colour to his cheeks, which Mycroft put down to the room being rather warm. He wondered if he had something in his teeth from lunch at Paul, and he tried to discreetly check his reflection on his phone. "Is there something in my teeth? You are looking at me strangely."

Greg gestured to his eyes, his voice slightly higher than normal, almost as if he was embarrassed. "I never knew that you had those, it was just a surprise to see you in glasses."

Mycroft shifted against the desk, "I'm putting on my lenses to save you from making jokes such as 'four eyes," Mycroft replied with a sigh. "Give me a few moments and we can go." 

"You should keep them on," Greg said, grabbing hold on his arm as if he could keep him in place. "I wasn't wanting to make fun of you. It's just that you... suit them. They make you look all academic and professional and they just look...great." 

"Oh," Mycroft adjuted his glasses and straightened out his jumper. It was probably the first time that he had ever been complimented on his appearance by someone other than Rudy. "That's very kind of you, Greg." 

He cleared his throat and he inspected his face in the window before he left and he tried to smooth down his hair and pat it into place. He sighed as his ears were a different shade of pink than they were normally. 

He wasn't sure if he was meant to give a compliment back, he did not know if it was something that friends did for another or not. "You look rather nice too, Gregory. I like the jacket, it makes you look very... rugged and handsome."  
  
Greg seemed to turn an interesting colour again, but Mycroft tried to ignore it to save him from some embarrassment.  _Rugged_ and _handsome_ , were the perfect ways to describe him. Greg would be wonderful to see on the stage, he had missed his audition, but Mycroft was sure that he would be dashing in whatever role he played. He also had a particular fondness of the photograph of Greg on the motorbike, he had requested that Anthea send him a copy of the photograph, claiming that it was for a classmate who was intrested in Greg...It was probably the biggest lie that he told this year. 

* * *

It seemed that Greg was more nervous about the audition than what Mycroft ever was. Greg had decided that he needed to take his mind off the audition and he had two cigarettes with him before they went into the auditorium and once they got it, Greg was trying to make him laugh by telling him about his disastrous date with Anthea. 

Mycroft knew what happened on that date, Anthea had been texting him throughout it on most details when he was out for lunch that afternoon. There was a flood of relief when Anthea had told him that she was not intrested in a second date with someone who kept getting her name wrong and that she felt uncomfortable about going out with one of his friends and that she did not want their working relationship to be soured if things went wrong with Greg. Mycroft had the feeling that Anthea knew that the motorbike picture of Greg was not for a classmate and it was for other uses. 

It was embarrassing that he had a small fancy for Greg, he blamed Greg entirely for it. He had to be so kind and charming, and he had to be so good looking, and seemingly be allergic to shirts in the morning, among so much more. He would go into mourning when Greg eventually got a girlfriend, he would miss seeing Greg walk around the kitchen with no shirt on and a cigarette clamped in between his teeth.

Greg was whispering in his ear about something silly, as auditions took place. They were talented actors and he could pick out an odd person who he went to a drama club with during the summer holidays. He doubted that any of them would remember him, he spent most of the time in the club working on the scripts for the original play, and he tended to keep to himself instead of interacting with most of the actors, apart from a few certain people. He had lost a lot of weight from the start of summer, it seemed to drop off easily with the new diet and his exercise regime, the gym had been one of the few places were his mind could switch off for at least half an hour.. The braces had come off and he had switched to contact lenses, more importantly, he had discovered the benefits of hair product and proper styling.   

He probably wouldn't get a role which was suited for his looks. The good-looking people always got the main roles and he was positive that Greg would surely get one, he would be a fantastic Banquo or even a Macbeth.  Mycroft was surely convinced that he would be one of the moving trees of Birnam Wood, he was tall enough for that. 

As he was summoned to the stage, Greg clapped him on the shoulder and wished him luck. Mycroft stood by the stairs of the stage for a moment, and he caught Greg's eye. Greg shot him an encouraging smile and gave him a thumbs up. Mycroft took in a breath, he suddenly did not care for the role which he was given, he only wanted Greg to see him on the stage, it didn't matter what anyone else thought, only Greg's opinion mattered to him.

As he climbed up the stairs to the stage, a feeling of rebellion seemed to overtake him. It was probably the most rebellious thing that he had ever done in his life, his parents would be furious to know that he was even going onto the stage, let alone auditioning for a play.  He always felt rather at home on the stage and did have ambitions to be an actor when younger, but he always felt that he didn't have the charm or the personality for it. It was different though, it no one was going to bully him at school for being in drama club in school and he was brave now.   
  
As he got into position, he found himself blinded by the stage lights and he could not make out anyone, if he squinted, he could see Greg right at the back and he could make out that Greg was still giving him a thumbs up. It was the last boost of confidence that he needed. 

"My name is Mycroft Holmes, I'm not auditioning for any part in particular," Mycroft announced in his most confident voice. 

A girl with a clipboard scribbled down his name and he had to correct her on how to spell it, murmuring that it was a family name when he was asked about the origin of his name.  She had a long brown ponytail and was wearing a hideous jumper with a cross-eyed looking cat on it. He recognised her from the pub, she was the girl who tried to give him her phone number. He would have to apologise formally later for basically fleeing from her. "All the parts are open for alternative portrayals this year and we are trying to modernise the show a little. We are still working out the bits and pieces but we are trying to finalise it now."

Mycroft thought for a moment and he licked his lips, before speaking. The words barely registered in his mind before they left his mouth. "I'm going to be auditioning for Macbeth."

There were a murmur and the scratching of pens over paper among the people with clipboards in the audience. Mycroft took his chance and he glanced over at Greg who had a mildly shocked expression on his face, and Mycroft believed that his face had a similar expression. Greg's expression soon melted into a smile and he gave Mycroft an eager thumbs-up. Mycroft already knew that a celebratory pint at the student union would be taking place the moment that the audition was over, perhaps chips as well.   
  
Mycroft got into position in the stage, managing to find a good spot where he was blinded from the lights and he could not see the audience. He did not even care if he got a part in this show or not, it was one of the first things that he had done for himself in a while, and no one was saying that he could not do it. 

Mycroft took in a deep breath and with a final glance at Greg, he started.

* * *

" _Is this a dagger which I see before me,  
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch you.  
I have you not, and yet I still see you.  
Are you not, a fatal vision, sensible..."_

Mycroft was just  _amazing_ as he recited his lines with ease and there was a confidence which was displayed that Greg had never seen before.  It was just captivating to watch Mycroft audition for the play and it was almost breathtaking. Normally, Mycroft liked to take up as little space as possible and go around unnoticed, which always seemed impossible because of his height and he seemed to draw attention to himself. Mycroft tried to draw as little attention to himself as possible, he always wore stupid jumpers and he was shy about his glasses.  He was always rather quiet unless he was around Greg or he was in the lecture hall, and it was always impossible to get Mycroft to stop asking questions in the lecture and getting into debates with other students.   
  
It was a new side to Mycroft, which Greg really enjoyed watching. He could not take his eyes off him and he was not sure when he had held his breath. It was almost like watching a stranger on the stage and Greg felt that it was a shame that Mycroft was intrested in working in politics or whatever, as Mycroft would have been wonderful as an actor.  It was only a few minutes that Mycroft was on the stage, but it felt like a lifetime.  Greg felt jealous of whoever was going to be Lady Macbeth, as he wanted the opportunity to be on the stage with Mycroft when he was like this. Greg knew that he would probably just be one of the trees of Birnam Wood in the play, as he knew that his audition was terrible.   
  
Mycroft rightfully had a round of applause once he had finished his audition, Greg had thrown himself up on his feet and he had let out a whistle, which just seemed to make Mycroft embarrassed, with the attention, but the smile that he had given him from the stage was just so _wonderful._ It was probably the first time that Greg had seen Mycroft look genuinely happy although his cheeks were bright red and he looked like he rather be anywhere else other than the stage and away from the attention.

Once the next name was called upon the stage, a nervous-looking lad with glasses, who would hang around with John. Mike Stamford, Greg barely knew anything about him, other than the fact that he was a medical student and he was in accommodation with John, he did seem nice enough and always up for a laugh when he tagged along for the pub.    
  
Greg clapped Stanford's shoulder and wished him luck, as he went to find Mycroft on the other side of the stage. 

"You were so brilliant!" Greg shouted out, as he spotted Mycroft by the smoking shed outside. "You were honestly just so amazing. It was like seeing a different person on the stage."   
  
"Well that is the point of acting, Gregory," Mycroft replied, with a shy look on his face, that suggested that he was not used to that much positive attention.

His cheeks were still bright red, but Greg was not sure if it was from the cold or he was embarrassed after the attention that he got from after his audition. 

  
Mycroft offered him the box of cigarettes, Greg knew that he should be saying no, but he took one of them. He pulled out his lighter and he helped Mycroft light his cigarette, covering Mycroft's hand with his own to protect the flame from the wind. 

"You were amazing, I knew that you were going to be amazing, but this was a new level of greatness," Greg commented as he blew out a large cloud of smoke. 

" If you keep flattering me, I doubt that I would be able to find a hat that fits my head," Mycroft replied with a small smirk. 

Mycroft seemed to have a new burst of confidence in him, which seemed to radiate off him although he was no longer on the stage. It was like he was a different person once he had climbed up the stage steps and he had auditioned. Perhaps, this was the equivalent of a life-changing moment for Mycroft. For some people, a life-changing moment would be climbing a mountain or facing a lion, or any fete of bravery,  but for Mycroft's new burst of confidence seemed to have grown from auditioning for Macbeth. Greg was just proud that he had managed to witness it. 

"I think that you could do with a bigger hat or two, " Greg replied smoothly. "You should have seen everyone in the audience, they were so amazed and I'm sure that so many people probably fancy you now, and you'll be beating off men with sticks when you get the staring role. They'll be wanting to be your lady Macbeth." 

Mycroft let out a snort, which made him cough as he choked on the smoke of his cigarette.  "God, Greg please do not make me laugh when I'm smoking." Mycroft spluttered out. 

"Well, I'm being serious, " Greg replied, slapping him on the back. "I'm sure that you are going to have blokes left, right and centre. We can have you reciting a bit of Macbeth and some other plays. I bet that a bit of Wilde is going to drive the gents wild."

Mycroft chuckled,  the smile reached his eyes. It was stupid puns like that made Mycroft laugh the most. "That is the most terrible thing that I've heard."

"And yet, you still laugh," Greg commented as he nudged Mycroft in the shoulder. "We should go back home, I'm thinking about making some pasta to celebrate. What do you think?" 

Mycroft put out his cigarette on the top of the bin and pulled his coat on. "That does sound delightful, and it saves me from cooking, it's even better."

They walked to accommodation in comfortable silence, until Mike Stanford had caught up with him and was chatting about his audition. Mycroft wasn't chatting too much, and he looked uncomfortable about getting compliments about his performance. Despite this, he looked happy, so, very, very happy. Greg wished that he could keep that expression on Mycroft's face. He didn't know why he was so worried about things being strange with him and Mycroft, things were fine, they were always going to be fine with the two of them. 

* * *

_14th of October_  

The phone call had been a surprise for Greg, it was from the head of the drama society. They had tried to get into contact with Mycroft but did not seem to have any luck and they had decided to call him instead, and for him to pass the message onto Mycroft.

He honestly could not believe it, especially as his audition had gone so awful. They had told him that they had his name in the hat for the role but a few people had dropped out of the show due to time commitments and assignments, and they wanted to try him out for the part.   
  
He had tried to call Mycroft several times to tell him the news, but Mycroft had not answered his phone, he was always so terrible for answering it and he tended to forget it, despite that large brain of his. He had hunted down Mycroft in the library, and grabbed him from the quiet study area and dragged him into a place that they could talk, an open janitors cupboard. It was the closest place that Greg could find. 

"What one earth is this about, Gregory?" Mycroft had a stern expression on his face. "I was working on my history essay, I was in the middle of finishing my bibliography." He adjusted his glasses and he tried to have a serious look on his face, but Greg thought that it made him look rather handsome, he did the sight of Mycroft in glasses. 

"I'm sure that you won't mind me interrupting you for this, Myc," Greg replied with a grin on his face. "It's a shame that there is nowhere to go and sit in this cupboard."

"Gregory, what is it? Have you won the lottery?" Mycroft asked in a low voice, he looked at him almost as if he had gone mad. 

 "The people from the drama society called," Greg took in a deep breath and he grinned at Mycroft, throwing his arms around him in a tight squeeze. "You've only gone and done it, you've got the part!"

He could feel Mycroft think for a moment before realisation hit him, and he wrapped around his arms around him. He pulled away and all traces of dignity that he had were gone, he looked younger and slightly awe-struck, but he looked so happy and relieved. "Are you sure that you are not joking? What about you? Hopefully, you got a role."

Greg let out a breathy chuckle and ran his fingers through his hair. "The drama society just phoned, Molly tried to phone you, but she asked me to just tell you. I thought that you would have your phone off or you left it at home." 

Mycroft tried to flatten out his hair and he pushed out the wrinkles in his jumper from when he was grabbed by Greg, his face was flushed, the grin was on this face still. It was just so lovely to see him like this. 

"What about you?" Mycroft looked at him with a somewhat serious expression on his face, biting his lip slightly. "Please tell me that you've got a bigger role than a tree? I'm only wanting to do this show if you are there with me."

Greg took in a breath and he examined the look on Mycroft's face. Mycroft was not going to believe him when he said. "I'm  going to be right on the stage with you...I'm your leading lady or in this case, your wife, Macbeth."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologise for the long wait in between chapters and I do apologise for the long length of this one. I ended up getting caught up in the chapter and I really enjoyed writing this one, and thank you for being patient for me. I'm starting to get the ball rolling on this fic now and I'm happy that I'm starting to develop Greg a bit more. I have spent some time working on his back story for a while and his relationship with his brother. I'm trying to figure out what the production of Macbeth will be like, and I'm happy to hear anyone's thoughts about for it. 
> 
> Also, I do thank everyone who had read, commented, kudos-ed, bookmarked, and followed the story. This fic has been a long haul for me, but I love writing it. I'm also looking at getting a beta, especially as I'm needing someone to motivate me to write and to help me get the story going when I have a block. My Tumblr is hogwartsjaguar97, I'm started to get more involved in the Sherlock fandom again after a while.


	6. The Interrogation, Suits, and Running Trousers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They chatted about Macbeth and Greg did his best to avoid the topic of how they were going to play their roles and their on-stage relationship. Mycroft seemed to be more intrested in discussing the history of the play to him and Shakesphere, clearly passionate about the topic and his voice was soothing. He would have such a wonderful voice for audiobooks,  Greg had thought to himself as Mycroft was discussing the history of Hamlet and he realised that he could happily listen to Mycroft read a phone book to him and he would listen to every single word that he said. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW, for mild sexual content.

_20th of October_

John had never expected for Mycroft Holmes ask to meet up in the cafe in the student union. Mycroft Holmes did not seem to be the type who would frequent cafes, let alone go to the student union. Greg said that he had been to the student union once when he was working at the bar, Mycroft had stayed for a total of five minutes and his sole purpose was to complain about Greg borrowing his politics textbooks without asking and using them as coasters. 

John had tried to keep an open mind when it came to Mycroft, unlike the other students who had written him off as being posh, pretentious, and also rather odd. He had placed Mycroft in those categories himself when he had first come across him, but after becoming across Sherlock, he was sure that Mycroft was the more normal one, but Sherlock was more interesting and exciting to be around.  John had come across a few students who were in Mycroft's classes when he was in the pub, they would talk about the student, _('the one with the odd name_ '),  who answered every question in the class and would frequently debate in the class with students and the lecturers. From what John had picked up, the history students were the fondest of him especially with his talent of languages and his love of archives, provided them assistance with their assignments.  Although they lived in the same building and that they were both friends with Greg, John had barely spoken to Mycroft. He usually stumbled across Mycroft when he was smoking and he was often in the 'living room' in student accommodation when they were watching football and rugby games on the telly. It was obvious that  Mycroft was only there because Greg had dragged him out of his room and he would spend the time on his laptop or reading his textbooks. When John spoke to him, conversations tended to be about the weather and other suitably mundane conversation topics, and it did feel that Mycroft was only speaking to him out of politeness and social necessity, and it often felt that he was speaking to a lecturer. John tried to keep an open mind, as Greg was particularly fond of him. 

Even though Mycroft had requested for them to meet up, John was surprised to see him by the student union. He had expected for Mycroft to have changed his mind and have gone to the library instead. He was dressed in a suit, it must have been his work uniform of some sort but it gave him an air of confidence and authority which he did not have in his jumpers. He looked like he could go in front of a lecture hall and start speaking and everyone would just start typing, assuming that he was the lecturer.  He was smoking when John approached but he did put it out properly and he tried to smile, but he seemed to look rather uncomfortable and it was almost like he was regretted asking to meet up.    
  


"Good afternoon, John," Mycroft greeted and he placed his hand out for him to shake. "I trust that you are well. Isn't the weather just unfortunate?"

John shook his hand and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Just awful, but I've managed to do avoid the worst of the rain," John replied. "How's it going, Mycroft? Shall we go in? I'm sure that it is going to rain again."

 _Wonder what we are going to talk about now, we've already talked about the weather_ , John thought to himself as he removed his jacket and sat opposite Mycroft. It felt that he was going into a job interview of some sort.  Mycroft had offered to get him a drink and he had asked for a cappuccino when Mycroft was at the counter, deciding not to ask for the chocolate sprinkles, as he felt that Mycroft would judge him for that.  Mycroft brought the drinks around the table and with just a tea for himself, and John wondered if he had ordered the wrong drink, and he should have ordered something more professional like an americano. 

"Thank you for arranging to meet up with me, I know that we are not exactly chums," Mycroft said, "This shouldn't take up much time."  
  


The feeling that he was in a job interview crept up on John, and he sat up straighter and tried to flatten his hair. He waiting for Mycroft to ask him about his accomplishments, weaknesses, and how he provided excellent customer care.  John cleared his throat, "What were you wanting to talk about?" 

Mycroft stirred in a few sweeteners into his tea and seemed to be having a deep thought, almost as if he was trying to select the right words. John used the time to sip at his cappuccino, and he wished that he had asked for the chocolate sprinkles. 

"I've noticed that you've become acquainted with my brother, Sherlock," Mycroft finally spoke, his tone was polite but John could sense danger. "He says that you've become friends and that you've been sneaking him cow eyeballs from the anatomy department."

"Yeah, I hope that you don't mind that we have," John sat up straighter and he folded his arms across his chest. "I stumbled across him when he was looking for cigarette ash, and we've been friends ever since."

Mycroft's eyes seemed to scan him almost as if he was reading a textbook, it made the hairs on the back of John's neck stand up, it was rather unnerving, but he tried to not let it bother him. "My brother doesn't usually have friends, and when they do, they have often let him astray. I don't think that you won't be doing that, John. You do seem to be rather sensible, medical students tend to be. " 

"So you are interrogating me in public, just because I'm friends with your brother?" John asked slowly, "Don't you think that it is rather odd, even for you, Mycroft?" 

Mycroft straightened up and the mock smile that he had on his face was gone, and a rather emotionless mask had replaced it. "I care for my brother deeply and I'm not wanting anything to happen to him," Mycroft replied in a cold but quiet voice. "He tends to spiral out and he always tends to get in with the wrong crowds, especially when he is 'bored.'"

John shifted in his chair and sipped at his coffee. "You don't need to worry about me being a bad influence on him, I don't do anything exciting, especially being a medical student."

"I thought not, as I said, medical students tend to be rather sensible," Mycroft scribbled a few words on the notebook that he had on the table. "You are planning to become a doctor? Does your family have a medical background?"

John just wanted to leave, this felt too much like a job interview. He knew that if he left, then he knew that Mycroft would have won in trying to intimidate him. "I'm actually wanting to go into surgery eventually when I get to specialise," John stated. "First one in the family to go to uni. My mum used to work in a shop and my dad was a lorry driver before he got laid off."   

He had the feeling that Mycroft knew about this already, Sherlock had tried to explain that the deduction thing to him and he knew that Mycroft must have known everything about him when he first looked at him. Sherlock knew everything about him from one glance, and he had spent a whole hour telling John who he came across his findings. It was brilliant when Sherlock did it but with Mycroft, it was predatory.  "So, is it? You know that I'm friends with your brother and I'm not going to lead him astray? Can I go?" 

Mycroft took in a breath and opened and closed his mouth a few times, as he tried to think of the right words to speak. He must have felt disappointed that he wasn't intimidated by him and was lost now. "I do worry about Sherlock constantly, and there isn't much I can do stop him when he spirals out. My intervention isn't enough for him anymore, all I can do is pick him up from the alley when he texts." He sounded broken and defeated when the words had come out of his mouth, he suddenly looked older than his years. "I can't keep doing it, John."

It seemed to hit him like a ton of bricks, Sherlock had talked about being bored frequently and he talked about his experiments, but he had never talked about that aspect of his life. Harry used to complain about how life was boring and she ended up drinking, she had always liked being the life of the party and wanted reality to be like that constantly. Even though he was younger, he had to look after Harry after she had been drinking. He had to be the one to take her to bed and deal with her when she was hungover, he had to stop her shouting at her ex-girlfriends when she saw them at the pub with other girls. She would often run away when things weren't going her way and he had to be the one to deal with her, and he had to phone the ambulance, and he always visited her in hospital. He had to do the same with his dad, he took badly when his mum died and he lost his job. His dad had died of liver failure a year ago, and Harry was currently in rehab for the second time. 

It was clear that Mycroft was just a concerned brother, and he was trying to deal with the situation in a Mycoftian manner.  Sherlock had told him that Mycroft did have the flare for the dramatics, and a meeting in a cafe seemed to have more of a flare than just a phone call discussing the matter. Sherlock did warn him of the possibility that Mycroft would take him into a car and take him to an abandoned building especially as Mycroft did love mid-twentieth century detective films and took inspiration from them. 

"You don't need to worry about him, " John said, he doubted that it would provide much comfort to Mycroft. "He's been going to college, the coffee shop that I work in is ten minutes down the road, he always comes in to get discounted cakes. I meet up with him after college as well, we usually get chips."

"He's been going to college?" Mycroft almost sounded surprised, there was a rather pleased look on his face. "He's not been saying anything to me about it. How on earth did you manage to get him to go?"

"No idea, really," John shrugged. "I told him that he wouldn't be able to study at the same uni with me if he didn't get his A-levels. The discounted cakes from the cafe might be a motivation for him."

Mycroft nodded and he did seem to be in deep thought again, he was smiling softly but he hid it with his steepled hands. "I do apologise for the interrogation. My brother has been with unsavoury crowds before, and I've had to deal with the consequences. Please don't tell Sherlock or anyone about this, or it will be a major cause of embarrassment on my part."

John nodded and threw his coat on, he wasn't wanting to drag the interrogation on any further than needed. He had the feeling that Mycroft was enjoying this as much as he did, and was just wanting to go. "Shall I fake a phone call, or should you? I don't want this to get dragged on any further, and I doubt that you want it to."  It was the easiest way to leave the conversation, John felt that just saying goodbye to end a conversation like this was inappropriate and he doubted that Mycroft wanted to participate in small talk, and they had already talked about the weather. 

Mycroft nodded, gesturing with his hand, allowing him to do so. 

John nodded and turned his back to Mycroft and started to walk quickly. He did consider throwing in a few zig-zags in the attempt to throw off Mycroft in case he decided to chase after him like a shark.

"John," Mycroft stated once he had reached the door. 

John turned around and saw that Mycroft had stood up now, the mask had slipped away and the look of concern was plastered on his face. 

"Look after him," Mycroft said, a slightly pained expression was on his face despite the attempt to smile. "Please."

John nodded and left the cafe, turning back he could see that Mycroft was sitting there with his hands over his face, he just looked exhausted. 

 

He debated going back in there, even though he had basically been interrogated, just to see if Mycroft was alright. He waited for a few moments debating if he needed to go back in or if he should just leave him. Greg walked in thankfully, clapping Mycroft on the shoulder and he could see Mycroft smile. John nodded to himself before turning around and walking around, Mycroft would be fine. John started the walk down to the college, he was meeting Sherlock for chips and he had some eyeballs to give him. 

* * *

Mycroft was the most over-dressed person in the room, he had never seen anyone wear a suit for a meeting for a drama rehearsal before. He couldn't keep his eyes off Mycroft, the suit seemed to give him a new burst of confidence and he just seemed so comfortable walking into the room dressed in a pinstripe suit and blood-red tie and pocket square.  He was ridiculously over-dressed, especially as everyone else was wearing hoodies, leggings, and jeans, but he had attempted to look more casual by removing the jacket and was just in his vest and shirt sleeves. He had never seen Mycroft in his work clothes before, usually, Mycroft was dressed a lot more casually, always in ironed shirts and jumpers, he wore ties on occasion as well as a blazer. He would even regularly see Mycroft wrapped up in a dressing gown in the early hours of the morning. But he had never seen him in a suit until now and it felt like a right shame. 

  
Greg had found it impossible to keep his eyes off Mycroft recently. It was like he had become a new person and there was a strong air of confidence which surrounded him right after the Macbeth audition. He seemed to hold his head up a little higher and he smiled a bit more, Greg enjoyed the sight of it. It was just so nice to see such a difference from the shy boy who he first met in the kitchen over a month ago. He had lost some the pudge that he first had, he barely had anything to lose in the first place, but he just looked good and happy. He wore his glasses around him a lot more, the lenses only seeming to be used when he was going to classes or in public. It was a subtle transformation that Mycroft had undertaken, but Greg had noticed every detail of it. It had started to become a problem though, as he had caught himself looking at Mycroft's arse when he bent down to empty the dishwasher.

Greg did not know when it started happening, but he had realised that he was looking at blokes a lot more, recently. He would still look at girls when he was at the pub, occasionally, he would chat them up, but he was looking at blokes as well. He had started to put it down to not having a girlfriend in some time, but he had realised that he wasn't too intrested in a girlfriend. He had been on a few dates after the disastrous one with Anthea, and he had soon realised that he would rather spend his free evenings with Mycroft. Greg tried to not think about it too much, concluded that he was only wanting to just spend time with Mycroft, as he was simply the most brilliant person that Greg had come across in uni and it was normal that they spent so much time together, they were in a play together and they did live together after all. 

Greg tried to pull his eyes away from Mycroft and made himself stare at a dust-covered poster for _Street Car_ which was peeling away from the wall.  Despite his efforts, he did glimpse at Mycroft, who was actually socialising and politely chatting away to Sally and another student. He had introduced Mycroft to Sally at the start of the term and he did chat to her occasionally and always made tea when she would come over to halls to hand over notes from criminology lectures. Greg figured that Sally and Mycroft would be making the effort to speak, she was playing Banquo in the play and they would have several scenes together. 

"Your wife does seem a bit quiet, Mycroft," Sally smirked as she nudged his shoulder. "This is the longest that I've ever seen you be quiet." 

Mycroft looked down and smiled as he inspected his script despite the newfound confidence that he had developed, he still retreated at the attention. It was rather endearing in a way, especially when he would give him the same almost-shy smile when Greg spoke to him when he was reading. 

Greg took a breath and ran a hand through his hair. "I had a late-night working in the union and I had to be up at stupid o'clock for football training and work," Greg commented. "I'm only awake because of coffee and energy drinks."

"I don't know how you are doing this, Greg," Sally commented as she sorted her hair. "You are a glutton for self-punishment and you've managed to get yourself an important role. You know that he was a sheep in the nativity play in school and he cried, Mycroft?"

Mycroft had an amused expression on his face but he didn't laugh at him, while Sally cackled, as she recounted the story of how he got so nervous with the audience and how his mum had to go to the stage and pick him up when he was six. He tried to stop Sally from telling Mycroft more stories about their school days, she seemed to have a fantastic memory when it came to his embarrassing moments. He had embarrassed himself in front of Mycroft so many times before, usually when drunk, but he was wanting to Mycroft to think of him as rather cool. 

"Sally, you shouldn't go around embarrassing me in front of my husband," Greg teased as he gave Mycroft's shoulder a nudge. 

Mycroft's face gained some colour and he smiled into this script again. Greg had always taken some pride in getting that reaction from Mycroft once he had made the joke. It had slipped out as they were going over the script together and he had asked 'his husband,' if he was wanting tea and the joke had stuck. He was even more surprised when Mycroft had started to play along with the joke and had started to refer to him as his wife. Greg was rather fond of it if he had to admit to it. It was just such a simple and stupid joke, but he loved it. He loved how Mycroft would go pink and let out a chuckle when he had used the joke, and he was filled up with so much joy when Mycroft had referred to him as 'wife.' It felt so rather domestic especially as they lived together and they had dinner together. 

Mycroft excused himself to get tea from the campus cafe, as he had Sally and started to squabble among themselves, teasing each other with embarrassing stories from school. The story on how Greg decided to get frosted tips in his hair or when Sally ended up having jelly come out of her nose when she laughed when Greg fell out of his chair at lunch. He couldn't believe that it had been so many years since school, four years at least. He had left just before he was eighteen and he started a short-lived apprenticeship in a garage. He did often regret dropping out at sixth-form, he just couldn't cope with school at the time, it just seemed a bit too much then. He was one of the older students in the class apart from a few people in their thirties and there was a man who was at least in his sixties in his sociology lectures. It was better going to university later than never even trying, he had a teacher who told him repeatedly that he was thick as he struggled with reading and getting the work done in time. It was one of the main reasons that he applied to university, it was to show that teacher and everyone who thought that he was stupid wrong. 

"Remember when you ended up getting stuck up that tree when you were about fourteen?"  Sally asked with a cackle "You were trying to impress...Katie Wakenhyrst, wasn't it? "

Greg ran his fingers through his hair and leant back on his chair with a bark of a laugh. "I only went up that tree because of Rodger, you know him? The massive git with the freckles and the flat face? He ended up throwing her pencil case in there."

"It was so funny, especially as you couldn't get down once you got the pencil case down. You must have remembered that you were scared of heights once you were up there!" Sally gave his shoulder a light tap with her fist. "I remember when Jamie had to climb up and get you." The smile on Sally's face contorted into a frown. "I'm sorry about what happened to Jamie, it was a shock to hear what happened. He was just a great guy. He used to fix up my dolls when Robbie used to rip the heads off them."

Greg hated that look of pity on her face, no one ever talked about his brother with a smile anymore. He disliked having to talk about Jamie or having to think about him at times. He had tried to push away his brother and try and focus on himself, but Jamie seemed to creep into all aspects of his life and reminders of him would sneak into places where he was unwanted.  He knew that he was unlikely to forget about Jamie, but it had been over two years now, he just wanted Jamie to leave. It was moments like this that Greg wondered how his mum was doing, it was a difficult time of year now. 

"Jamie was great," Greg forced a smile on his face and he quickly changed the topic. "I found it surprising that I managed to get a good role in the show, I was expecting to just be a tree."

Sally seemed to understand and she nodded, she placed a hand on his shoulder though. "Me too, I was only doing the show as a favour for Molly," Sally smiled but it did not reach her eyes, it made Greg wonder if his own was that artificial. "I'm sure that you are not bothered about being Lady Macbeth, it is a bit gay."

"I suppose that were are following Shakespherian tradition, really, " Greg shrugged. "Men did play women in the show, and they must have chosen me for a reason." 

"I'm sure that you would look wonderful in a frock, Greg," Sally teased, "I'm sure that you would either look like a panto dame or drag queen."

"I'm sure that they wanted me for my body, I have been told that I have a fantastic pair of legs," Greg replied dryly. "They must have thought that I brought a certain sex appeal to the show." 

Mycroft walked back into the room with two takeaway cups of tea and passed one to him with a smile on his face, Greg accepted it gratefully, hoping that it would perk him up.

"I put the ridiculously large amount of sugar in there," Mycroft replied with a look of disgust on his face. "It's honestly a miracle that you have teeth left. 

Greg took a long sip of the tea and let out a content sigh, as it seemed to warm him up even to the bones. He was surely convinced that tea did make everything better, it had that certain effet, unlike coffee. "I only have that many sugars because I'm not sweet enough, Myc."

Mycroft nodded thoughtfully as he reached into his pockets and passed Greg several tea biscuits, not bothering taking one for himself, must have been on the diet again. "Thought that I would try and keep you happy, Mrs Hudson always seems to give me extra biscuits, I had only paid for one for you and she gives me five extra, I couldn't say no.  Some were meant for my brother though." 

"Mrs H is always such a darling," Greg commented, passing one of the biscuits back to Mycroft. "You are the best husband." 

As predicted, the shy looking smile crept back onto his face, Greg smirked to himself, feeling rather proud. 

"God, you are so sickening, " Sally rolled her eyes. "No wonder you were picked to be a married couple and I thought it was because Olivia had to drop out. You should have seen Olivia last year in Romana and Julliet, she was amazing."

"I'm sure that Greg is going to be brilliant," Mycroft commented quietly, "I would rather have him as my Lady Macbeth than anyone else and I'm a stickler for Shakespherian tradition."  

Greg grinned, it was one of the kindest things that Mycroft had ever said to him, and for some reason, it left a warm feeling in his chest. He tried his best to ignore it and he focused on Molly's horrendous jumper as she stood in the middle of the room with an older student, Sarah, who was co-writer and director of the show. She had taken Molly under her wing, both were medical students and he heard from John than Sarah acted like a mentor to the undergraduate medical students, and that she always had time for cups of tea and to listen to complaints about the workload and anxieties about failing the course. 

"Hi everyone," Sarah greeted with a smile on her face, her ponytail swishing around as she talked. "I hope that everyone is excited about the show, we are hoping to perform in January. This is a new take on Macbeth and I'm hoping that everyone is as excited as we are."  

Greg could only focus on Molly's jumper, it was one of the worst things that he had ever seen. It looked like it was hand-knitted and it was a mixture of brightly coloured stripes which clashed together, most of the stripes ended up going squint or suddenly developing a bump in the middle of them. It looked like a grandmother had knitted it and that for some reason, it made it more acceptable. His gran had knitted his brother a scarf once he had come out, she had used up all of her wool and made on in rainbow colours. Jamie did love that thing and he wore it constantly when he was in university and if anyone teased him for it, he would reply along the lines of, _'At least someone loves me enough to knit for me.'_   Greg had gotten a scarf from Gran at the same time, but it was just black, as she had used up all of the nice wool for Jamie. He didn't mind too much, she was in the middle of knitting him a jumper right now, it was meant to be a special one. While Greg was thankful for the fact that she was knitting for him, he was left with a sense of dread and he wondered if his jumper would be like Molly's. 

Greg smiled and thanked her quietly when she passed him a sheet of paper with a list of the rehearsal dates. "I should be able to make most of these, I'll put requests for these days when I'm next working the supermarket. I'm planning to take holiday in the week of the show performing."

"That's great, Greg," Molly replied as she gave him a pile of papers to hand across the row. "I think that you are going to be really great, you were an unexpected choice, and we had to re-write the show a little because of fo you." She grinned and she had this quiet air of confidence when she spoke, it was disguised by her mousy appearance and the horrible jumpers. "You better not let us down!"

"I'll try my best, Molly," Greg commented, "I'm sure that if I did badly, I would have the leading man  beheading me before you and Sarah get the chance."

Sarah sat down in the front of the room crossing her legs, as she opened up a thick ring binder. She reminded him of his drama teacher when he was in GSCE drama when he was a teenager if Sarah suddenly decided to wear an overly large shall which she would flap it around for dramatic impact, then Greg would suddenly feel that he was in school once more. Molly moved to sit in the chair next to her and she pulled out a notebook.  "I do apologise that we've left you in the dark about our new take on Macbeth, we did have to make a few changes to the show, especially due to casting," Sarah announced as she flicked through pages of the binder. "Before we really get into business, it's still a bit early, but Mycroft, do you mind wearing an outfit similar to what you've got on? It just fits in with our interpretation of the show, and that shade of red just looks fantastic!"

Mycroft's ears went pink, he nodded and cleared his throat, "I have several suits and I can bring them over at a later time for you to consult."

Molly scribbled down Sarah's request in the notebook along with other comments and suggestions from the other actors. "Greg, you don't need to worry about wearing a dress or a skirt for the role, despite being Lady Macbeth, you are going to be a man in this interpretation of the show.

Greg let out a mock sigh and placed a hand on his forehead, "Molly, I've wasted my  time waxing my legs for no reason,  you should have given me some warning!"

A laugh echoed around the room, Mycroft ended up choking on his tea, and Greg had to bang him on the back. He was in good spirits although he had tea on his shirt, and he was chuckling quietly. 

Sarah cleared her throat and gave a small smile, but she did not look the most amused at having her rehearsal interrupted by jokes. "So this a rather interesting take on Macbeth and we are still trying to sort out the last bits and pieces, but it shouldn't take much longer. There was an adaption of Macbeth that the BBC did recently, they had Macbeth set in a restaurant and it was just a fantastic interpretation of Macbeth. Macbeth was a head chef in a Michelin star restaurant, and Macbeth is trying to get ownership of the restaurant, and the witches are bin men." Sarah announced. "We are planning to set Macbeth in the world of politics, it was going to be a bit more of a neutral interpretation, but Mycroft just gave the air of a politician and he convinced us to change the script."

"So we are thinking that Macbeth is going to be a high-rising politician and he is trying to get into a position of power, we are not sure if he is trying to be prime minister or essentially controlling the British government," Molly said, with a grin as she was scribbling into her notebook, clearly getting a few more ideas out into paper. "We are thinking that the witches are going to political advisors to Macbeth and they are leading to his downfall. If anyone has any suggestions, feel free to give them.

It seemed like the perfect portrayal of Macbeth for Mycroft, Greg was sure that he would be wonderful. The air of power which he had in the suit, would translate fantastically on the stage. He did wonder how he was meant to portray his role of Lady Macbeth, he had the image that he would be a scheming partner who would want the power which would come from a high-government position and perhaps the money. He would have to consult Mycroft about this, and he thought that perhaps Macbeth had failed to get much governmental power before was due to old boys club of politics and that he was an outsider due to being gay, and that the rise to power was due to anger. He would have to consult Mycroft on this and he was sure that Mycroft had some really good ideas on this. He looked over to Mycroft, who looked in deep thought about Sarah and Moly's interpretation of the play.   
  
Greg forced himself to focus on the suggestions that the other students gave but he did not care, other than the suggestion that they still used swords and had a massive sword fight, between Macbeth and MacDuff. He found himself agreeing heavily on that suggestion,  sword fighting was always cool. Molly and Sarah asked for Mycroft and himself to stay behind once the first meeting was over. It was thankfully a short and sweet meeting, the rehearsals would formally start the week after, once reading weeks had finished and everyone should be back on the campus. 

Greg moved to the front of the room and was sitting directly across from Molly and Sarah, he had the odd feeling that he was in school again and that he was being kept back after class for misbehaviour. He shifted uncomfortably on his seat and he glanced at Mycroft, who still had a look of deep thought on his face, probably thinking about his portrayal of Macbeth. 

"This is just a check just to make sure that you two are comfortable working with another?" Sarah said in a half question, the question seemed to be directed towards him than Mycroft. "We do like to take risks and bring new interpretations of shows, it makes it more accessible for people and we are hoping that this does encourage people to read and watch Shakesphere, especially as they teach it horribly in schools or people are just too intimidated to read it."

"I'm fine with working with Mycroft," Greg shrugged, "He is my friend and I won't have a problem with it."

Sarah shook her head and it made her ponytail move around. "It is just that some people are uncomfortable playing a gay character, and we are just making sure that you are fine with the aspect, especially as you two are a couple in the show." 

Molly looked at him expectantly and he glanced over at Mycroft who seemed neutral about the prospect, he thought that Mycroft would have more difficulty playing straight than anything else. It was only pretending to be a couple with Mycroft. They might have to kiss a few times and that would it, but it wouldn't be such a big deal. The thought of being a rather flirty lady Macbeth did cross his mind and he quickly pushed it away, even if he was just acting, it would be odd to think about kissing his friend. 

"I do not have any objections with working with Greg," Mycroft commented. "Since we live together, we have enough time to develop an interpretation of the roles."  Mycroft moved his eyes to him for a moment and he let out a sigh. "I do not have a problem with playing gay, I have would have more objections having to kiss a female Lady Macbeth."

Greg blinked, he had not expected Mycroft to just tell people that he wasn't intrested in women so casually, especially after how upset he was in the kitchen a few weeks ago. It was such a contrast from before, but it was so great to see Mycroft with this new air of confidence, it did suit him wonderfully. 

"If I had to play gay with anyone, I would rather be with Mycroft," Greg attempted to joke, "He is rather handsome, it was like he dressed up for us, wouldn't you agree, ladies? "

Mycroft looked away and he focused on the wall, he had a shy expression on his face and he was blessed again. Greg knew that it was cruel, but he did enjoy teasing Mycroft, especially as he did get flustered so easily. He couldn't tease Mycroft like what he could do with other friends, Mycroft was different, and he always complimented him to get a reaction. Mycroft did look handsome in the suit, even despite the small tea stain on his shirt. Greg wasn't sure how he was going to cope with being on stage with Mycroft in a suit, he was sure that he was going to mess up all of his lines. He shook his head and wondered what on earth was happening to him. He knew that he shouldn't be having thoughts about his friend of that nature and he knew that he was looking at Mycroft and other men like he was doing for girls. He wondered if it was from having a lack of a girlfriend and it led him feeling that way about men. He had only kissed one once when he was drunk, he thought about it a lot recently and it seemed to creep up on him when he least expected. 

* * *

Mycroft had insisted that he would make dinner that evening and Greg had found himself surprised, as the only pieces of kitchen equipment that Mycroft willingly used and did not have issues with was the kettle, fridge and microwave.  Mycroft only cooked four things, toast, porridge, microwave meals, and baked beans, anything else just seemed to either burn or get stuck to the bottom of a pot, or Mycroft would just give up and just order takeaway for dinner.   
  
He was wearing an apron over his work clothes, his sleeves were rolled up and he had taken off his tie. Greg tried to ignore the strange feeling in his chest and he forced his eyes to look at his notebook. It seemed almost impossible to not look at Mycroft, he was just a sight to see when he was attempting to cook. Mycroft had insisted that he didn't need to keep him company in the kitchen, but Greg decided that he was staying, just in case the fire alarm was going to go off again and it was far too cold to stand outside. 

Mycroft was making scrambled eggs, he was pushing his culinary talents, especially as he was attempting to cook sausages. He was humming quietly to himself to the radio as he cracked eggs into a bowl. Greg was watching him and he tried to ignore the guilty feeling that crept over him when he glanced at Mycroft's arse when he bent over to get plates from the dishwasher. Greg shook his head as he went to the fridge and he pulled out a beer from the fridge, taking a long sip, almost as if it was a potion to stop him looking at his friend like that. It had been a year since he last had a serious girlfriend and he had not met any girls who had taken his interest, and he had been so busy with his course work and his jobs, it was probably some type of Stockholm syndrome he had with Mycroft and it had eventually spread to him looking at other men as well.

The sausages were slightly burnt, the toast was cold,  but the eggs were perfect, Greg was pleasantly surprised when Mycroft passed the plate to him and that the food was edible. He had been expecting Mycroft to ask him to take over the cooking or he would order Thai takeaway, but Mycroft was slowly becoming adept in the kitchen. They chatted about Macbeth and Greg did his best to avoid the topic of how they were going to play their roles and their on-stage relationship. Mycroft seemed to be more intrested in discussing the history of the play to him and Shakesphere, clearly passionate about the topic and his voice was soothing. _He would have such a wonderful voice for audiobooks,_ Greg had thought to himself as Mycroft was discussing the history of Hamlet and he realised that he could happily listen to Mycroft read a phone book to him and he would listen to every single word that he said.   
  
Greg washed the dishes and they ended up watching the DVD of  _The Merchant of Venice_ from his Shakesphere collection in the 'living room.'  Mycroft seemed to know the words for most of the play and he was mouthing them quietly to himself in time of the DVD, and Greg had found himself watching him rather than the TV. It was the most intriguing thing to watch and Greg was sure that studying history, politics and economics, was just wasted on Mycroft and that he should have just applied to drama college. His talent and enthusiasm for the arts were just wasted in a university production of Macbeth.  
  
He forced his eyes off Mycroft and to Laurence Olivier who was on the screen as Shylock, thankfully managing to focus on the telly than Mycroft. 

As the credits rolled, Greg had finally become aware of the weight that was on his shoulder. He turned his head and he saw Mycroft was resting his head on him and that he was asleep. He looked a lot younger when he slept and rather carefree, and away from the stress of university. He was up all hours of the morning and the night studying, and he was always there first thing in the morning when Greg forced himself out of bed and to make a coffee before he went to work in the canteen. Mycroft always complained that he slept poorly and that it was difficult to sleep knowing that he had course work waiting for him in the morning and he didn't like to waste time on trivial things such as sleeping when he had things to do. That never did seem to stop Mycroft spending time with him though, even if watching the telly with him was probably not the most productive use of his time. 

It was wrong to wake him and Greg found his shoulder aching and he had to move and he did so reluctantly. He slipped himself out from Mycroft and he lowered him down on the sofa, Mycroft didn't even stir. Greg sighed to himself and wondered how exhausted Mycroft was and he was sure that he needed to start a routine of Horlix and a story for Mycroft to help him sleep. He looked at him with a tired smile before he went into his room, as he felt that he was intruding going into Mycroft's, and he brought over a spare blanket and threw it over Mycroft's sleeping form. Greg watched him for a moment, a smile crept on his face for some reason, he did look rather peaceful. He forced himself to leave the room and he switched off the lights, and he found himself struggling to sleep that night.

* * *

_21st of October_

 

Greg found it difficult to get out of bed the next morning, he knew that he should be home right now and that his mum was needing him to visit. He had been promising to visit for a while, but he had put visiting off some many times that the prospect of going home seemed more difficult, and picking up the phone felt a bit impossible. He did force himself to send a message to his mum, asking how she was and asked if he could bring a friend to Sunday lunch with him. His mum texted back within minutes, thrilled that he was able to make it for Sunday lunch. He wasn't sure if Mycroft would be wanting to attend and he was sure that going to a council estate in Essex for Mycroft was his equivalent of being in the jungle. Greg knew that he couldn't go to Sunday lunch on his own, it was difficult being with his family these days and he felt almost like a stranger, especially when Jamie left. It had taken him some time to get used to not being his brother's shadow and his mum started to focus on him a lot more. It had been easier to focus on work and take up as many shifts as possible to avoid her, and university had been the escape that he needed to avoid his problems and his mum, hopefully re-inventing himself, 

Greg would have stayed in bed all day if he could, and he was half tempted phone in sick from work. He always had this feeling on his birthday these days and he did not enjoy as much as he used to, he had similar feelings with Christmas, and his mum's Sunday lunch as well. He always made the effort to try and be busy on these days, and he was more willing to pick up shifts at work. He picked up the breakfast and the lunch shift at the canteen and was going to the union to ask if he could pick up a shift that evening.  

As he was trying to find his hoodie, there was a knock on the door and Mycroft appeared in his room with a mug of coffee, a blanket,  and an envelope with Mycroft's writing on the front, leaving both on the bedside table. Greg resisted the urge to sigh, he had made the point in not telling anyone when his birthday was. Mycroft was not in his usual attire and he was wearing a running jacket and a pair of tight running trousers. It was surprising as Mycroft was wearing trainers. He knew that Mycroft went to the gym, but he had always imagined that Mycroft wore a jumper in there rather than tight trousers and trainers. Greg forced himself to look at Mycroft's face, instead of his legs, which he found to be rather distracting. He had no idea that Mycroft's legs were that long and they looked rather muscular than Greg would have thought.  It was annoying, Mycroft seemed to look good in a suit and in running gear, and it seemed to set his mind ablaze.

Greg shifted and he was thankful that the jumper was slightly too big for him, and he forced himself to breathe and tell himself that he liked girls. "Thanks for the coffee," Greg forced himself to look at the poster of the red-headed girl on the motorbike on his wall. "Sleep alright?"

Mycroft nodded with a somewhat sheepish look on his face. "Yes, I do apologise for sleeping during the film last night, " Mycroft placed the folded blanket on his bed and stood there awkwardly. "Thank you for the blanket."

He forced himself to look at Mycroft and he tried to push the thought of kissing Mycroft for the show out of his mind. "That's not a problem, you do need to sleep occasionally. It makes us even, doesn't it? I did fall asleep on you." 

Mycroft nodded and gestured to the card and the mug of coffee. "I put the tooth-rotting amount of sugar you like in your coffee, " Mycroft didn't bother to hide the disgusted look on his face at the mention of sugar. It made Greg wonder if he should maybe cut down to four sugars, it seemed a bit more socially acceptable than the five that he usually took. "This isn't much, but happy birthday, Greg." 

"Thanks," Greg walked over to grab the mug of coffee and he took a long sip. "How on earth did you know?"

Mycroft hesitated before he spoke, "Your mum told me, she phoned the landline a few weeks ago, and I ended up answering...I chat with her when she phones. She is lovely."

Greg nodded, it felt odd that Mycroft was apparently connected to his home life, his old life that he tried to leave behind. "I'm sure that she does like talking to you," Greg sighed, and tried to ignore the ache of pain in his chest. "I was wondering if you would like to go to Sunday lunch with me this week? I'm going to be driving to Chelmsford, and there are a few museums that you might like."

 Mycroft looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before he nodded, giving him a small smile. "That would be lovely, I'm sure that it would be lovely to meet your mother," Mycroft said, "When I next go home to Rudy and Paul, I'll ask if you can come to dinner with us and go to the theatre. I must warn you that Rudy is rather...theatrical." 

Greg wanted to refuse the offer, especially as he knew that he would not be able to afford dinner in a swanky London restaurant and a theatre ticket, but he knew that Mycroft would not be thrilled if he declined the offer. He forced himself to nod and he opened up the card, finding that there were two tickets for Oscar Wilde's, _A Woman of No Importance_ inside. 

"I can't accept this,"  Greg commented as he tried to give the tickets back to Mycroft. "This must have been so expensive and you've been splashing out money on  me." 

"Greg, please take them," Mycroft insisted lightly. "I don't need to worry about the money, and I thought that you could take your mum to see some Oscar Wilde, she told me that she loved studying his work when she was doing her A-level in English."

Even though it felt that Mycroft was intruding on his home life by chatting to his mum and giving him theatre tickets, he had found himself rather touched by the gesture. He still protested lightly about the tickets and refused to take them, and he tried to give Mycroft the money for at least one of the tickets, but Mycroft was still refused to even humour him. The fact that Mycroft was in the running trousers was making the situation even more difficult to deal with and he was finding it difficult not to stare at his legs. 

"I didn't pay for these, Rudy gets theatre tickets, and it is a part of his networking," Mycroft insisted. "He isn't able to attend due to his dress-rehearsal of his play and he barely leaves the theatre in the week before the show is about to open."

Greg nodded and thanked him quietly for the tickets, and placed them on the bedside table. "These are really thoughtful, thank you so much," Greg licked his lips and let out a breath. "I will let my mum know that you can come for dinner." 

Mycroft nodded and seemed to hesitate in the room, almost as if he was wanting to say something. He stood there awkwardly and bit the inside of his cheek, before giving him a tight smile. it was annoying, even though he looked like a spare part, he still looked ridiculously good in those running trousers. "I should be going, I'm needing to be at the gym for fencing," Mycroft finally said, "I'll see you later." He nodded at Greg and adjusted his running jacket before he left the room.

The thought of Mycroft jumping around with a sword reached his brain and it was something that he enjoyed and Greg tried to think of maths and other boring things until Mycroft left the room. He caught a glimpse of Mycroft's arse in the running leggings and he couldn't take his eyes away.  _This is wrong, you are going to hell_ , his brain chanted as Mycroft left the room. He waited until he heard the door to their student accommodation close and he could hear Mycroft's footsteps on the stairs. He waited until he couldn't hear any more of Mycroft's steps and he locked his bedroom door, just in case and he found himself in the shower. 

 _You are so going to hell,_ Greg thought to himself as he tried to think of something unsexy or at least think of a girl but it seemed to be impossible, and he found himself thinking about Mycroft in the running trousers regardless. He thought about kissing Mycroft on the stage, he knew that it was only acting, but he did wonder if Mycroft would be a good kisser. He imagined that Mycroft would be the type to push him against the wall and tug his hair, just taking what he wanted from him. It almost frightened him that the prospect of kissing a man when he was sober excited him and how he actually wanted it so much. He wondered what it would be like to have Mycroft's long muscular legs around him and his hands on his arse. 

Greg didn't know when it had happened, but he had found that his hand had trailed down and he was touching himself to the thought of Mycroft. Greg knew that this surely meant that he was going to hell, getting off to the thought of his friend, but he managed to switch off that part of his brain, thankfully. Greg found his hand wrapped around his cock and he found that he couldn't stop touching himself once his conscience to _bugger off._ His hand increased in speed as he thought about Mycroft's arse in those tight trousers and Mycroft pushing him against the wall as they kissed. 

The thought of Mycroft in the suit, pressing him against the wall and kissing him forcefully, seemed to have the most effect on him and couldn't last much longer. Greg tried to muffle a moan  and bit his hand hard in fear that Mycroft was able to hear him from the gym.

"Bloody hell," Greg murmured to himself as he cleaned up and started to scrub at his hair with shampoo. Greg forced himself out of the shower and dragged himself to work and spent the morning wondering if he was as heterosexual as he thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, thank you for the comments and kudos to the story, they have been a great source of motivation for me to write. 
> 
> The adaption of Macbeth which Sarah was talking about was from the BBC series called ShakespeaRe-Told, which would do modern adaptations of Shakespeare productions and it was a rather good series and I would really recommend the adaption of Macbeth, and it was one of many adaptations of Shakesphere I watched to help me get my idea of my modern adaption of the show for the fic. It is such an interesting take on Macbeth, especially with their interpretation of Birnam Wood and changed it with Macbeth being defeated when 'pigs fly', and it's got James McAvoy in it, and the video that I've watched is in the link below in case anyone is intrested. 
> 
> https://search-alexanderstreet-com.libproxy.mit.edu/view/work/bibliographic_entity%7Cvideo_work%7C4035640?source=relateditems


	7. Breakfast in Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ""So what can you deduce about me?" Greg tried to keep his voice calm and act like he wasn't phased in the slightest.
> 
> Mycroft let out a quiet laugh and he seemed to be remembering. "To be honest." 
> 
> "Yes? What could you tell?"
> 
> Mycroft let out another quiet chuckle, "Nothing, it was a struggle to do so and I just gave up after a few minutes. It never happened to me before."

_25th of  October_

Greg had the feeling that someone was watching him from the moment that he left the kitchen that morning. The feeling that someone was following him stayed with him the whole day.Greg had found himself looking over his shoulder constantly throughout the day in the attempt to figure out who was causing this niggle in his brain. When Greg would glance behind him, people were not even paying attention to him or he was alone. The niggle in his brain seemed to be even more impossible to ignore when he was alone. 

Greg was tempted to speak to John about it, but he was sure that John would just think that he was strange. He wanted nothing more than to speak to Mycroft about it, but Greg had found himself unable to be in the same room as Mycroft lately without the feeling of shame washing over him. Greg had tried his best to act normal around him as if he had never wanked over to the thought of him in the shower, but it had started to feel impossible. He had been told by Anthea that Mycroft was able to do a 'thing,' where he could read minds and he just knew things about people from just looking at them, he hadn't confronted Mycroft about it, Greg knew that he would have to move out the moment that he had that conversation with Mycroft. He could not deal with Mycroft knowing what he did in the shower and what he thought about in there. He had tried his best to act inconspicuous in the kitchen, he had been avoiding Mycroft and he had been more willing to pick up extra shifts to keep him out of the halls. He still had dinner with Mycroft most evenings, but he would go to his room when Mycroft was emptying and filling the dishwasher to stop himself staring at his arse. He had found out that Mycroft would go to the gym most mornings, so Greg started to leave for work early in the morning just to avoid seeing Mycroft in his running trousers.  He didn't know how he was going to cope with the Macbeth rehearsals and he wasn't sure if he was going to have to drop out or not. 

He had considered trying to find himself a girlfriend but he barely had free time these days between work commitments, course work, football and Macbeth. He wasn't the best with girlfriends anyway and it seemed unfair to put someone through the horrors of his schedule. It wouldn't get much easier when he was in the police, he had been wanting to work for Scotland Yard, it had been an ambition of his after he watched a documentary when he was in school. Greg knew that getting to Scotland Yard was going to be a hard slog and he knew that his ambition probably would be uncooperative for relationships.  His last girlfriend got annoyed with him constantly as he barely had a free night between work and his A-level night classes, and he spent almost every moment that he had spare studying and trying to make sense of the coursework, as he was never that bright and that it was difficult to read at times. 

Greg had briefly entertained the idea of going to that club that Jamie used to take him to. It would have to be the best place to figure out if he actually liked men or he had just started to notice and admire them just because he had been single for too long. Greg knew that he would have to be sober to figure out but he knew that he wouldn't be able to go to a gay club sober, it seemed far too nerve-wracking to go one alone. He knew that he would stick out like a sore thumb there, he wouldn't know what he would wear or how to approach another man. They would surely know that he was a straight bloke just experimenting and he would just look like an idiot and people would surely find out. Greg knew that he liked that kiss when he was last at the club, he knew that he really liked it, but he doubted that those feelings were real as he was so drunk. He had wanted to speak to his brother about it, but he knew that Jamie would just tell him that he was being over-dramatic and that he was caught up in the party.  Jamie was never the best at listening and always tended to bring attention to himself in conversation, so Greg never spoke to him about serious stuff.  He had tried to talk to his brother about having a crush on an older boy on the school's football team when he was fifteen, but Jamie told him that he was just straight and that he was being over-dramatic as he didn't have a girlfriend, and he was wanting to copy him. Jamie teased him for weeks and it was the last time that he went to his brother for advice. 

Greg felt that he had spent the majority of his day looking over his shoulder, and he was convinced that he had almost given himself self-induced whiplash from turning his head around. The presence never seemed to leave him even when he was in a lecture, football training, or even at work. He had entertained the idea that he had a stalker, but Greg knew that he wasn't worthy to be stalked, he wasn't super wealthy or good looking, and he knew that a stalker would be wasting his time on him.  

Despite his attempts to study in the cafe in the student union, Greg could not possibly ignore that niggle which was in his brain. He had tried to block out the present with his sociology textbooks and Queen blasting through his headphones but it did not seem to leave. Greg looked over his shoulder and he was convinced that there was a boy with curly hair was staring at him with a look of great interest on his face, and it almost looked like he was taking notes, but there wasn't a textbook.   
  
He almost looked familiar but Greg could not put a name to the face, but he had recognised those distinctive grey eyes from somewhere. The boy was younger than him and he looked far too thin for Greg's liking, especially as the black coat that he wore seemed to hang around him like a blanket. His hair was curly and dark and he had a serious expression on his face, and he was looking at him almost as if he was an exhibit in a museum as he scribbled in his notebook. 

Greg stood up and he moved to the computer cafe in the student union, he gave his best intimidating glare to the boy who was on the table behind him. The boy just looked rather amused and he continued writing things down. Greg knew that he was being paranoid, he had been feeling a bit off lately. He had put it down to nerves about visiting his mum and he didn't fancy dealing with her probing questions about how he was doing. He could barely deal with those questions when he was visiting the councillor and he had been using the sessions to vent about course work and people who were annoying him. He didn't know how he was going to cope with being with his mum for Sunday lunch, it was going to be difficult enough trying to act normal around Mycroft. 

The niggle in his brain seemed to go away when he had entered the other room and he was able to focus on his coursework for ten minutes until John approached the table. They had arranged to meet up the other day, Greg felt that he was needing someone rather sensible to talk to and he felt that it was a conversation that couldn't be had in the pub.  John seemed to be rather open-minded about most things and he knew about how cruel life was. John had spoken to him about how he had lost both of his parents and how his sister was an alcoholic when they were peeling potatoes together in the canteen. It was the anniversary of John's mum's death and he was understandably rather upset, and Greg had always prided himself for being a good pair of ears. John seemed to have coped with his family situation better than what he did with his own. He knew that John kept in contact with his sister and had actually visited her several times, while it seemed like Mycroft had more of a relationship with his mum than what he did.

Greg checked over his shoulder once more and he was relieved to discover that no one was behind him. He knew that he was being paranoid, thinking that the boy with the notebook was watching him. Greg turned his head around and sighed and he forced a smile on when he saw John approaching with a plastic tub of cakes and two mugs of coffee. Greg shoved his headphones and his MP3 player in his bag and waved John over to the table. 

"Mrs H has been a right gem," John commented, as he placed everything onto the table. "She had forgotten that she had made a batch of cakes and biscuits  for the lunch service  the day before and made another one, so everyone was given a tub of cakes and biscuits, you are really missing out  just working the breakfast shifts."

Greg helped John spread the contents of the tub on the table. There was several scones, chocolate brownies, custard creams, as well as two slices of Victoria sponge, it was honestly a miracle that all those baked goods could fit into an old ice-cream tub.  John divided up the contents of the box into two piles and shoved a pile into Greg's direction and passed Greg a lunch box to put the cakes in. 

"Does Mycroft like sponge cake?  Or does he like scones?" John asked as he started to fill up the lunch box with cakes before he shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out tea biscuits. "Mrs Hudson told me to bring these for him and I had to bring extra for Sherlock. I swear that he just goes into the canteen just for her baking, she has a real soft spot for him."

Greg shrugged his shoulders before he put a slice of cake and a scone into the tub, "I think that Mycroft is meant to be on a diet again, I can't honestly tell you right now.  It if was possible just to sustain a human on just tea, then Mycroft would be doing that. He can cook eggs now apparently. "

John sat down and placed a small container on the table, it looked far too small to hold any cakes. "That is for a friend, he's going to be dropping by to pick it up and I'm going to a graveyard, apparently." 

Greg blinked. "A graveyard? Aren't you worried that he is going to murder you?"

"I was convinced that he was going to do it at first, especially as he has taken the skull out of the box of bones that I got for my anatomy class," John shrugged and he did not seem to be phased by Greg's concern. "He's actually alright, I had to take notes when he was doing experiments with tea. He was curious to see how to make the perfect cuppa."

Greg nodded and was unconvinced by John. "He sounds like an interesting chap..."

John let out a chuckle and sipped at his coffee. "He is really brilliant, he can basically tell you your life story just by looking at him. You would like him."

Greg nodded and he tried to ignore the niggle which was at the back of his neck. He managed to resist looking over his shoulder and he focused on the box of cakes on the table. "I'm seeing my mum this Sunday, I'm going for lunch."

John was nibbling at a biscuit as he spoke. "You are making it sound like you are going to your death. I doubt that your mum is going to poison your Yorkshire puddings."

Greg shook his head and he picked up a scone and started tearing it apart, he needed to keep his hands occupied. "It's not that...I've just not visited her in a while and I've barely spoken to her since the university has started. "It just became more and more difficult to pick up the phone as time passed." Greg took in a breath and sighed loudly, "Worst of all, she still made a big fuss for my birthday and this lunch is meant to be my birthday party, despite me avoiding her."

He had expected John to start shouting about how he was a terrible son for avoiding his own mother, but John just nodded, almost as if he was encouraging him to speak. Greg did not know why he had the sudden urge to talk about his family, he had been avoiding the topic successfully for months with his friends and he had managed to dodge the subject with a few councillors as well. Perhaps going to visit his mum was causing the need for him to confront his problems and made them seem far too real once more. Greg knew that he hadn't really moved on from what happened two years ago, he had tried to keep himself busy in the attempt to ignore the past instead of confronting the problem.

"I know that avoiding her isn't going to help," Greg admitted after a few minutes."But it just seems to be so much easier than having to deal with family and pretend that everything is normal. I do feel awful for leaving her to go to uni."

"What about your brother?" John asked, still nibbling at his biscuit. "Your brother must be in contact with her at least." 

It was a seemingly innocent question and Greg felt his chest ache terribly and his eyes start to burn. He couldn't speak for a few moments and all he could hear was John's nibbling on the biscuit. He always seemed to have that reaction when someone mentioned his brother or when he thought about him lately. He knew that it was going to be a difficult birthday this year, especially as he was away from his mum. His last two birthdays involved him staying in bed for most of the day before going out all night and drinking, and being horrendously hungover the day after. He had decided to cut back on drinking after the last birthday when he ended up in Newcastle and he discovered that he had a tattoo. 

"Greg?" John asked a look of concern was on his face."Everything alright?"  
  


Greg regretted opening his mouth and even talking about his personal life. He had no idea why he even felt the urge to do so especially as it always to embarrass him with how upset he would get. He was twenty-two for god's sake and man, and he knew that talking about his family shouldn't make him upset. If his dad was there, he would be getting a clip round the ear and told to _man up._   

"My brother is dead," Greg eventually confessed, it felt like it had taken all of his energy to say those words. The words came out sounding wet and as if there was a stone in his throat, and even saying it seemed to sink in that Jamie was gone. He couldn't look at John and he looked at the table which was covered in crumbs from the scone that he was ripping apart. "I'm finally older than my brother now," Greg let out a wet laugh. 

"Shit," John murmured with a serious look on his face. "Fancy going outside, away from everyone else?"

Greg scrubbed at his eyes and nodded and he tried to tidy up the table and his stuff, but John took over the job and ushered him outside to a deserted bench. 

Greg tried to light up a cigarette, but he struggled to get the lighter to flicker due to his shaking hands. "Shit, stupid thing isn't working."

John wordlessly took the lighter from his hands and lit up a cigarette for him. Greg was fully expecting the lecture about how he was increasing his chances of getting lung cancer, but John didn't say anything. It was s  small mercy from John as well as taking him away from the cafe to save him getting embarrassed from people watching.

"How long ago?" John asked quietly, as Greg had finished off the first cigarette.

"Will be three years in December, the fifteenth," Greg choked out, scrubbing his eyes. "It's stupid, that I'm still getting upset about it.  I know that he is gone and not coming back, and it shouldn't be upsetting me."

John placed a hand on his back which felt like a stone slab lying on top of him. "It's your brother, it's understandable that you are still upset," John's voice was calm and he tried to smile but it just seemed to be for his own benefit than for him. "When my mum died, it did feel like my world had ended, especially as I was left dealing with my dad and my sister who were both drunks. The ache is still there, but it does get easier." John sighed and he looked away into the distance. "Her birthday and Christmas, and even stupid holidays like Mother's Day are difficult even though it's been five years."

John's voice sounded pained, it always did when he spoke about his family and why they rarely spoke about personal topics. "I really focused on my studying ever since she died, it's why I wanted to become a doctor. I spent so much time in the hospital with her, and I kept telling her that I was going to make her better when I was a doctor. It's really stupid, but it's been helping."

Greg nodded and he offered John a cigarette but it was refused. "Do you ever feel like you are still a kid? They don't teach you how to deal with things like this, and we are meant to be adults now"

John shook his head and rested his hand under his chin. "I feel like I became an adult when I was fourteen and I had to start getting my dad out of the pub."  He looked at Greg and bit his lip. "Are you wanting me to phone someone? There's a drop in with the student councillor, and they probably know how to deal with this better than me. I can go with you?"

Greg shook his head and scrubbed at his eyes, and he tried to ignore the fact that he was really wanting his mum right now.  "I'll be okay, I can go and talk to my mum about it."

John nodded and he stood up from the bench when he saw a figure dressed in black approaching. The niggle in Greg's neck started to make itself present once more and it seemed to be on high alert when he noticed that the figure walking up to John had curly hair. It was the boy from the cafe and Greg could see the notebook in his hand.

"Have you got those eyeballs that I requested?" The boy asked John before his eyes scanned Greg as if he was a textbook, but he didn't say anything and he wrote something down. 

John reached into his bag and pulled out the small tub and passed it to the boy, who opened up the box and smiled to himself. "This is Sherlock Holmes, Greg." 

"You've been following me around all day, haven't you?" Greg asked, standing up and folding his arms across his chest. "Do you happen to have a brother?"

Sherlock closed the tub and placed it in his pocket. "I'm surprised that it took you that long to figure out, I thought that my big brother would have talked about me," Sherlock stated with a tone that basically asked him if he was stupid. "I can tell that you are having a crisis, I would put my money on sexuality and that you are failing your course. You must have done badly on the last essay, you looked like you were asleep half the time and that you were struggling to read in the cafe."

"Oi, shut it," John warned. "We've talked about this, keeping thoughts to yourself, as it makes you come off as being a prick." 

Greg couldn't say anything and he stood with his mouth open, words were unable to come out. He wondered if things were that obvious, and he wondered what Mycroft surely knew about him if he was anything like his brother.  Sherlock seemed to smirk to himself and he was reading his notebook out loud, with deductions that he made about him,  he seemed to know where he came from, that his dad left, and that he worked several jobs. He doubted that Mycroft would have told his brother any of that information, especially as it wasn't that interesting. 

"How on earth did you know? Why were you following me?" Greg eventually managed to force out.

Sherlock shrugged and moved to sit down on the bench with a cigarette between his teeth. Greg reached into the pocket of his leather jacket to find his box, but it somehow was in Sherlock's hands. He snatched the box back and he took the lighter as well. 

Sherlock seemed to be rather amused by this, "I was curious to see how insane you were, especially as no one wants to be friends with my brother," Sherlock shrugged. "I can see why he likes you, you must be so fun to wind up and you must make him feel so clever,"  Sherlock smirked to himself and placed the cigarette behind his ear. "My brother is not the type to make friends and he's picked you of all people, did he interrogate you like what he did for John? Bribe you?"

John folded his arms across his chest and took the tub of eyeballs from Sherlock's coat. "You are getting these when you stop being a prick."

"Mycroft interrogated you?" Greg asked in John's direction. 

John just looked fed up from dealing with Sherlock, Greg could not understand what John saw in him or why he had deemed him to be brilliant. "It wasn't so much of an interrogation, but he was just wanting to make sure that I wasn't a bad influence on Sherlock and that Sherlock was going to college."

Greg nodded, he would have to talk to Mycroft about that, it was certainly a bit odd.  He glanced over to Sherlock, "So got all the information that you need on me? Do you have a problem with me being mates with your brother?"

Sherlock looked rather taken aback and he blinked. Greg had the feeling that he wasn't used to people not being intimidated by him. "I can tell you anything else? Want to know my shoe size or what football team I support?"

"Why would you need to tell me that?" Sherlock replied as he stood up, "Colchester United, and size ten and a half."  Sherlock almost sounded bored and he stood up and took the tub of eyeballs from John. "Come along, John, we need to go to the graveyard." 

John shrugged and murmured an apology before he turned around and followed behind Sherlock. 

Greg blinked and suddenly felt exhausted after dealing with Sherlock.  He collapsed into the bench and reached into his pocket for his box of cigarettes only to find them missing once more. Sherlock seemed to stop and he turned around and he was waving around the cigarettes as if they were a trophy. Greg decided that he was going to need to hide his cigarettes somewhere else to stop that bastard steaking them.

* * *

Greg wanted to step out of the kitchen the moment that he saw Mycroft standing there in his trainers. It was frustrating, especially as Mycroft had little clue on what he was doing. Greg was sure that he was wearing those trousers on purpose to tease him. 

As he was about to turn and go to his room, Mycroft turned away from the kettle and looked up at him with a smile but it soon dissolved into a frown and concern washed over his face. "You are upset, what's wrong?" Mycroft asked and Greg soon found a mug of tea pressed into his hand. It almost seemed to be Mycroft's default response to make tea. If he got a good grade on an assignment, he would make tea. If he was stressed from course work, he would make tea. If he was in a bad mood, Greg would make tea for him. Tea just seemed to be Mycroft's response to most things and Greg always found a mug of tea on his desk or at the counter waiting for him. He would have to tell Mycroft that he wasn't that keen on tea eventually and that he prefered coffee, but he hadn't had the heart to tell him. 

"I met your brother," Greg said in response as he started to put sugar in his tea and he tried to ignore Mycroft's disgusted look on his face. 

"Oh lord," Mycroft sighed and sat down at the table. "What has he been saying? I'm so sorry for anything that he's said."

Greg stirred his tea with a spoon thoughtfully. "Well, first of all, he owes me a new box of cigarettes," he sighed. "He did that mind-reading thing on me, worst of all he was right about everything. I've heard that you can do it."

Mycroft shifted in his seat and he looked like he was wanting to run away. "I can deduce people, we learned it from our grandfather. I keep them to myself though unlike my brother who likes to shock people." 

Greg sat back in his chair and the feeling of dread washed over him, Mycroft must have known what he had been thinking about in the shower and how he had been looking at his arse and other men.  "So what can you deduce about me?" Greg tried to keep his voice calm and act like he wasn't phased in the slightest.

Mycroft let out a quiet laugh and he seemed to be remembering. "To be honest." 

"Yes? What could you tell?"

Mycroft let out another quiet chuckle, "Nothing, it was a struggle to do so and I just gave up after a few minutes. It never happened to me before."

Greg stopped stirring his tea and looked up at Mycroft, relief seemed to wash through him. "Nothing at all?"

Mycroft nodded, "Rudy also told me that it was better to know people that you live with organically and that you don't make friends by deducing them."

Mycroft looked down and he stared at his tea with a shy smile which had crept on his face. Mycroft reached over and grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "I'm really glad that I am getting to know you and that we are friends." He looked up at Greg and his cheeks were slightly pink and he just looked so shy, it was almost endearing. "I think that you are rather brilliant, Gregory."

Greg felt his heart flutter and he held onto Mycroft's hand for a moment far too long. "You are rather brilliant as well, even if you can barely cook and that you used to label your teabags."

Mycroft's laugh rang in his ears and it was such a wonderful noise. Greg was sure that it was his favourite noise in the world and he always strove to hear it and he loved how Mycroft always tried to look dignified but the facade always crumbled and he would chuckle even if the joke was awful.

It almost felt that they were the only two people in the room and Greg hadn't felt that in a long time. Greg knew that it was impossible to confront his feelings, he wasn't brave enough yet. He wasn't too sure if he really liked men and it was perhaps a phase. It was starting to become difficult to deny that he had some sort of feelings for Mycroft.  He doubted that Mycroft would have been intrested in him. He could imagine that Mycroft was wanting some posh bloke and not someone who was from a council estate. He wasn't smart enough to go out with Mycroft, he was barely getting C's for his course work and it was difficult to study and had scraped through his A-level night classes. It wasn't like he had much of chance with someone like Mycroft.

* * *

_26th of October_

Despite the fact that he had the rare opportunity for a lie-in on Sunday, Greg barely slept during the evening and found himself staring at the ceiling in the early hours. He felt that he was preparing himself to go to battle even if it was just a Sunday roast that he was going to. He wanted nothing more to spend the day in bed and just to miss lunch, he knew that he couldn't go around avoiding his mum. Despite his protests, his mum was insistent on celebrating his birthday and she had been texting him constantly about what type of cake he was wanting.   
  
Greg wasn't too used to celebrating his birthday without his brother. The two of them had birthdays which were two days apart and they would just celebrate it together and there was a party for both of them. The parties were more for Jamie, he was older and he always had the ability to gather attention towards himself while Greg had often found himself forgotten about until Jamie dragged him to play games with the group.  His mum had forgotten his birthday the first year after Jamie died, and Greg was more than happy to not mention it to his mum and he had hidden the few cards that came through the door in his room to stop his mum from getting upset. He ended up staying in bed for the majority of the day before getting ridiculously drunk. He didn't do that these days, Greg was sure that it was a sign that he had grown up, that he didn't drown his sorrows anymore. After the funeral, he had gone up to Scotland for a week and Greg couldn't remember much of it, other than the hangover he felt and how he couldn't drink certain types of whisky without associating it with that time in his life. 

He could hear Mycroft padding around the kitchen and there was a knock on the door. "I've got tea, are you decent?"

Greg threw his football jersey and he tried to clean up his room, throwing his dirty washing under the bed. "I'm fine, come in."

Mycroft walked into his room wearing the blue jumper which he wore to the Macbeth audition and he had his glasses on. He was wearing a tie and he looked far too dressed up for going to a council estate for Sunday lunch. Mycroft had two mugs in his hand and he placed a plate of toast on Greg's nightstand and passed Greg a mug. 

"You don't normally do this," Greg commented as he sat on his bed cross-legged. "Are you wanting to chat about your fears of the council estate?"

Mycroft shook his head and he sipped at his tea, he gave Greg a small smile. "I'm sure that I'm going to be fine, it would be lovely to finally meet your mother."  

Greg offered the plate of toast to Mycroft who politely declined the toast, claiming that he was saving himself for lunch.  "I'm surprised that this toast isn't burnt."

Mycroft looked up from the newspaper that he had brought it, Greg managed to notice that he was reading the sports section. "Did you watch the match last night? Arsenal managed to draw with Chelsea."

Greg shook his head and he put the plate down. "You don't read the sports section, you always give that part to me in the newspaper," Greg said, "Mycroft, what are you doing?"

Mycroft folded the paper neatly and he hesitated before he spoke, almost like he was choosing his words carefully, he had a slightly sheepish look on his face. "I'm was wanting to keep you company...I was wanting to be...nice." 

Greg cleared his throat and he picked up his mug of overly sweet tea. "That's nice of you, Myc, but you don't need to keep me company." 

"I know but I want to," Mycroft shrugged as he placed the paper on the desk before he started to clean up the crumpled sheets of paper from the desk and put them into the bin. Mycroft stopped for a moment and he picked up a picture and he smiled at it before he showed it to Greg. "This is a lovely picture, your mum looks so kind, "Mycroft said a small smile on his face. "Is that your brother?"

Greg took the family photo and he tried to ignore the strike of pain that went through him. It was the last photo that he had of Jamie. His mum managed to get a special offer to get a professional family photo taken at the studio and decided that it would be lovely to do before Jamie went off to uni. Mum was the most enthusiastic about it and she decided to buy a new outfit and she had even gotten her hair done for it. She had given him a telling off as he had just gotten the earing and he was wearing clothes from the day before, but she had gotten multiple copies of the photo, two for home, one for the office, and several copies for the family. She had given him a copy when he had went off for univeristy as a going-away present. 

"Do you have many family photos?" Greg asked, "I've never seen any in your room."

Mycroft sat back down on the desk and sipped at his tea. "I keep mine in an album, but there is more with Rudy and Paul. I look rather awful in them."  He seemed to rub at his nose self-consciously, he did seem to be rather insecure about it.

Greg shook his head and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm sure that you don't look that awful, I tried to get frosted tips when I was younger, just because I wanted to be like my brother. Nothing can be worse than that." 

Mycroft shifted in his seat and he had a polite smile on his face. "Let's just say, thank goodness that I discovered that I was good at fencing and I found a love for running. They were responsible for the weight coming off."

Greg was going to offer to go running with Mycroft but then it realised that it would be dangerous. He would have to look at Mycroft in running trousers and it would be far too risky. He had his own pair of running tights and he knew from past experience that they did not hide anything. 

Mycroft seemed more than happy to sit in silence for several minutes, Mycroft read his newspaper while Greg fiddled at his phone.  While he was happy with Mycroft's company, it was just so unlike him to be doing this. He knew that his mum phoned Mycroft last night and he had no idea if she had told him anything about Jamie or the family in preparation of dinner. Mycroft would look over at him and he would give him a shy smile but it seemed to have a tinge of concern which covered it. 

Greg stood up and he noticed that Mycroft's eyes were on his leg, more specifically at the tattoo which was rather poorly done and it was misspelt. 

"I never knew that you had a tattoo," Mycroft murmured, nodding at his leg.  _"Regrets_ is spelt wrong though."

"Drunk when I got it, same as the earing," Greg explained. "I do regrat having it done."

Mycroft chuckled a little at the joke, Greg felt rather pleased with himself for getting a laugh out of Mycroft from such a stupid joke, especially as Mycroft did not laugh at much and did not enjoy TV comedies that Greg tried to get him to watch. 

The smile on Mycroft's face seemed to fade away quickly and concern seemed to replace it. "Is everything alright?" Mycroft eventually asked. "You've not been sleeping too well and you seem to be a bit off." Mycroft hesitated as he spoke, almost as if he was being selective with his words. "I've not seen too much of you this week and I don't know if you were avoiding me."

Greg shook his head and he reached to grab Mycroft's wrist and he looked at him. "I've just been tired and I've been a bit slammed with coursework." It was a half-true, not exactly a lie. "It's just been a bit stressful at the moment, dealing with family and coursework."

Mycroft nodded and he looked slightly unconvinced about what he did said."John told me that you are going through a rough time, I bumped into him when I was getting milk." 

Greg bit his lip and scrubbed his hand through his hair in thought. "What did John say?"

"He just told me to not be a prick and go easy on you," Mycroft shrugged.

Mycroft was still holding his wrist. It was a warm and comforting pressure, and Greg craved it and he was always reluctant to let it go. 

Mycroft did not speak for several minutes and it seemed that he was in deep thought about the words that he was trying to say. Greg knew that Mycroft was out of his depth and he probably wasn't too good at this sort of thing. He knew that Mycroft wasn't too much of a people person and that emotions were not his strong suit. Greg let him speak even if it did take time for the words to come out. 

"When I started university, I was going through a rough patch and I was spending all day in bed on occasion, and you decided to make me sandwiches and tea, and you cook for me despite the fact that I was a stranger," Mycroft murmured and he grabbed hold of Greg's hand. "I just want you to know that I'm wanting to do the same for you...You are my friend, Gregory." It seemed difficult for him to get the words out. "I'm going to be there when you need me, like what you do for me."

Greg did not know what to say and he stood up, and pulled Mycroft up with him and wrapped him in a tight hug which Mycroft returned.  He could swear that he felt Mycroft's hand was stroking his hair like what his mum would do, and it said a lot more than what any words could say. 

He reluctantly pulled himself away from Mycroft after a few minutes and Mycroft was trying to remove the imaginary dust from his clothes and smooth out the wrinkles.  "I should get myself dressed if we want to avoid the traffic." 

Mycroft nodded and shifted awkwardly and adjusted his jumper. "What flowers does your mum like? I'm just wanting to pop to the shop before we go." 

"She loves yellow roses," Greg replied. "She says that they light up the room."   
  
"She is right about them," Mycroft replied with a small smile before he left the room. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accidently wrote the chapter just from Greg's perspective but I rather did enjoy writing this one. I have been having a lot of fun writing from Greg's POV. The next chapter is Mycroft and Greg's visit to Essex for Sunday lunch with Greg's mum. 
> 
> Thank you for everyone who has read, liked and commented on the story, it has meant a lot to me, especially as I've not been writing in a while and I've been out of fandom due to university. I have also discovered tumblr again and you can find me at hogwartsjaguar97 if you are intrested in more Mystrade content and reblogs of cat posts!


	8. Sunday Lunch Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft did not know if he could say anything that would cheer up Greg and make things better, he doubted that he could actually help. Mycroft allowed Greg to blast the music in the car as loud as he needed to despite the throb in his head.  Each time the car reached a set of traffic lights or stops, Greg's left hand would unleash itself from the tight grip of the wheel and drop, Mycroft would it as an opportunity to grab Greg's hand and he squeezes it. He squeezes it hard, almost as if he can show how much he cares and how much he wants Greg to be okay just through his hand. Greg would give him a small smile and he almost seemed to forget his problems momentarily before he put his hand back on the wheel. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to split this chapter into two parts due to the length of it and I also felt that part two is going to be of a more serious tone, and it is predominantly a Greg-centric chapter, but other than that: Happy Reading!

_26th of October_

The prospect of going to Essex for Sunday lunch made Mycroft rather nervous and his nerves seemed to grow throughout the course of the week. By Sunday, Mycroft found it impossible to act rather normal and act 'chill,' as Greg would say and it made him rather thankful for all of the acting lessons that Rudy allowed him to take. The anxiety which seemed to surround him reminded Mycroft of the last ten minutes before the end of an exam where he was frantically scribbling down onto the exam paper and his hand would start to ache horribly. He had never been to dinner at a friend's house before. He hadn't even reached that point in a friendship with anyone before, even that was a cause of stress. While his friendship with Greg had been one of the most wonderful aspects of his university life, Mycroft strongly believed that it was the biggest cause of stress in his life, especially as it was getting more impossible to suppress his feelings. No matter how much he tried to focus on his course work and how he kept telling himself that his main focus for going to university was to study, Mycroft found it increasingly difficult to ignore his increasing interest for his kitchen mate. 

He had always had a thing for Greg from their first meeting in the kitchen once he had first gotten over the initial shock of not being able to deduce him. Mycroft had hoped that he would have gotten over his crush after the first few days when he had discovered that Greg was a messy person and that he brought girls to his room. Mycroft could easily consider Greg to be a rather strange person but rather endearing at the same time.  He did not understand how Greg found to work multiple jobs and still manage to keep up on his studies and social activities, and even functioned as a person and willingly cooked when he found himself only eating biscuits and having tea, on the days leading up to an assignment needing to be handed in. Mycroft did not understand how Greg was not shy around him in the slightest and how he would happily sing Queen to himself as he cooked dinner, and how he would sing along with the radio as he made coffee for himself in the morning. Mycroft did not understand how Greg still had teeth despite the large amount of sugar that he put in his tea and coffee, always putting more sugar in his tea, as it was clear that he prefered coffee but he always drank the tea which was made for him.  Mycroft had been curious about the reason that Greg dropped out of college when he was a teenager, as Greg was smarter than he gave himself credit for, it was almost upsetting and extremely frustrating how Greg would frequently put himself down and make jokes about his supposed lack of intelligence. He also wondered why Greg almost seemed to avoid his mother and he always avoided the topic of his family when it came up in conversation, but Mycroft knew that Greg probably not enjoy his prying. The main thing that Mycroft could not understand about his friend was why Greg was willing to be friends with him, especially as Mycroft knew that he was rather boring and that he was difficult to be friends with, but it did not seem to deter Greg. 

He often wondered what Greg saw in him and he wondered why Greg wanted to be friends with him, especially as they were plenty of much _cooler_ people to be around. He also wondered why Greg had invited him to visit his family, it felt oddly intimate. Mycroft had been invited to other people's homes for dinner and afternoon tea but they were Rudy and Paul's colleagues, where he would spend hours investigating other people's bookshelves in the attempt to avoid speaking to strangers. He had never been to a friend's house before and it felt oddly intimate, especially as it was an aspect of Greg that he barely knew anything about.

He did speak to Carol on the phone on a regular basis but they barely spoke about Greg and they tended to talk about old films and literature, especially the works of Oscar Wilde and Dickens. Carol was lovely and he did enjoy the mindless chatter about her work colleagues and how she was taking a creative writing class. She did fuss over him and she was always checking up on him, asking about how he was managing his coursework and if he was eating. Mycroft never had much experience with a mother, his own felt like a mean-spirited boss, but he was sure that Carol acted like what a mum was supposed to be. He had picked up several bunches of yellow roses for Carol and a box of chocolates,  she had mentioned that she liked Malteasers in a phone call once. 

There is a facade of cheerfulness which surrounds Greg and it is clear that he is wanting nothing more than to go home as he drives away from their student accommodation. Greg seemed to be reluctant to leave the kitchen and he had smoked four cigarettes in the time that Mycroft that went to the local M&S to pick up flowers, chocolates, and sweets for the drive to Essex, peppermints to ease his car sickness. He had to be the one to encourage Greg to get into the car, he had offered to phone Carol and to cancel, but Greg took the phone out of his hand and put on his leather jacket. Mycroft knew that there was nothing that he could do or say to make it better, and he was out of his depth completely. Greg looked like he wanted nothing more than to go back to bed, and he had to put a hand on his back and guide him out of the door. 

Greg's knuckles are white as he gripped the steering wheel and he doesn't sing along with  the Queen CD that is blasting in the car.  Despite his attempts to make conversation and to calm Greg's nerves, his attempts of conversation just seemed to dissolve as the words leave his mouth.  It pains him, knowing that he can't do anything to make things better for Greg. The car is far too small and he can't exactly hug Greg, like what Greg would do for him when he was upset. It is far too rude to turn the car around and drive back to university especially when Carol has been cooking, she had texted him about the rhubarb crumble she was currently making for them, and it was simply rude to not eat the crumble that a mother had specially made for them.   
  
Mycroft did not know if he could say anything that would cheer up Greg and make things better, he doubted that he could actually help. Mycroft allowed Greg to blast the music in the car as loud as he needed to despite the throb in his head.  Each time the car reached a set of traffic lights or stops, Greg's left hand would unleash itself from the tight grip of the wheel and drop, Mycroft would it as an opportunity to grab Greg's hand and he squeezes it.

He squeezes it hard, almost as if he can show how much he cares and how much he wants Greg to be okay just through his hand. Greg would give him a small smile and he almost seemed to forget his problems momentarily before he put his hand back on the wheel. 

"I'm thinking that we should get a curry tomorrow for dinner," Greg said suddenly. 

It almost took by Mycroft by surprise as Greg had hardly spoken since they left the kitchen and he dropped the peppermint that he unwrapped. "I will not be in tomorrow, there is a lecture that I'm attending with the historical society."

Greg turned to look at him with a surprised look on his face. "Is this a new thing of yours? You never talked about the historical society before."

Mycroft shrugged and turned down the stereo making Queen's  _Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy_ to a quiet murmur. "I've been attending for a while, you are usually working in the supermarket on a Monday evening. I usually go to a lecture on a Monday and I attend the group on a Saturday after work. I did not think that you would be intrested."

"You never know that I did like history when I was in school and I did well in my A-level," Greg said, biting his lip. "What is the lecture that you are going to be listening to? I might like it."

" _The Bookshop of the World; Making and Trading Books in the Dutch Golden Age_ ," Mycroft stated as he unwrapped another peppermint for himself and placed one in Greg's outstretched hand. 

"Sounds like a thrilling evening," Greg replied dryly, "Far too exciting for me, Myc. No wonder you never talk about it."

Mycroft gave Greg a small smile and Greg smiled at him back, it never did reach his eyes and it seemed rather forced. "I do have a life outside the student accommodation and my textbooks I even talk to other students willingly, it was a big surprise, even for me. I don't just sit around in the kitchen and wait for you to come back from work before I can get on with my day and enjoy myself. " 

The chuckle Greg let out was genuine and it was wonderful to hear it ringing in his ears. Greg's hand dropped as the car stopped at the traffic lights and Mycroft squeezed his hand without even a second thought, almost as if it was a pavlovian response. 

"What else do you get up to then? "Greg asked, his voice was more cheerful than it had been. "I need to know about this mysterious world of Mycroft Holmes."

Mycroft let out a breath of a laugh and adjusted his glasses. "I don't do too much, really, I mostly go to history society and I'm a member of the fencing society and I practice most mornings. There is a competition before the Christmas holidays, " Mycroft said. "I've been invited to the pub with some of the members, it was surprising, especially as the members are the type who would have teased me in school. I suppose that being good with a sabre makes me bearable." 

Greg pulled the car into a petrol station and he grabbed his hand once the car stopped. "Hey, I liked you before I even knew that you could jump around with a sword...You are brilliant by the way." 

Greg's eyes seemed to look deep into him and Mycroft's breath seemed to get stuck in his lungs. It was difficult to be around Greg at times, he could not understand how one person could be so good looking. Mycroft knew that he had a type, he always had a thing for dark-haired men with fantastic grins, who would not look out of place on a motorbike and a leather jacket, rugged and athletic. It also helped that Greg seemed to be allergic to shirts and it was always a wonderful distraction from his textbooks when Greg would walk into the kitchen shirtless for his morning coffee. It was those moments that Mycroft was thankful for those acting classes that Rudy made him attend, especially as it was difficult to act normal around him when all he wanted to do was admire his body and touch him all over. He had trained himself to stare at his textbook when Greg would walk in shirtless, usually, it was an economics book, it was the dullest subject and it seemed to kill any joy he felt. 

He doubted that Greg would be intrested in him, Greg was most definitely heterosexual and even if he liked men, Mycroft knew that he wouldn't be Greg's type. He would imagine that Greg would be interested in muscular and attractive men, the athletic type, someone who also liked sports. Despite the fact that Greg was undoubtedly heterosexual, Mycroft had the feeling that there was something more to their friendship.

He had spent hours researching friendships and he had spent far too much time reading online forms and guides dealing with the question of  _how to tell a boy likes you?_ They were mostly orientated for teenage girls and young women and did not provide much help. and it would be embarrassing to ask Rudy and Paul about the matter. Mycroft was not the expert on friendships and he did not want to let his hopes get too high, but he knew that friends did not usually hold hands with another willingly and so frequently.  He also knew that it was inappropriate to admire his closet friend's arse and chest on a regular basis, and occasionally have interesting morning showers to the thought of his friend. 

He texted Carol when Greg had gone into the shop to pay for petrol, she had sent him several messages about the rhubarb crumble and enquires about Greg, and he gave her and he gave her an estimated time for when they were to arrive so that they had enough time to visit the Castle after lunch. Carol had been insistent that they visit, especially once she found out that he studied history and that he had never visited Colchester before.  He quickly replied to Rudy and Paul's messages wishing him a happy birthday, they always liked to make a fuss out of it. He didn't find it important enough to mention it to Greg, especially as Greg's mind seemed to be rather occupied these days and there was a strange tension in the kitchen, 

He had considered asking Greg if he wanted to go to the pub, he had never asked anyone out on a date before. He had spent a good bit of time trying to convince himself that it was a good idea, he could test Greg's interest in him and if all failed, a friendly visit to the pub wouldn't be a complete loss. He had been on a date, of some sort in the first few weeks of term. It wasn't anything special and he had hoped that if he had sex, it would remove the urge for him to kiss Greg all over and stop himself imagining taking Greg to bed, a very inappropriate thought. 

He had even been on a date of some- sort at the start of October. He had been feeling confident since the Macbeth audition and Mycroft had been wanting to push himself a bit more socially, Dr Miller had been encouraging him to push his boundaries in their sessions together and Mycroft felt like going on a date was the next step after making a friend and attending several societies.  He had come across Colin in fencing society, he was his type, good looking and athletic, but he was far too posh and stuck up and Mycroft had decided that he could not be with someone who reminded him of his parents. Worst of all,  Colin was extremely dull and dim, _a goldfish._  

Colin had invited him to the pub and to his accommodation once they had several drinks. Mycroft knew that it was unlike himself, but he did find Colin good looking and he hoped that it would take his mind off Greg and allow him to move on from his fancy for his friend, as it was a waste of time to be waiting around for someone who wasn't going to return his feelings.  It wasn't anything to write home about or to boast about...it was nice but unsatisfying. Almost like having an oatcake instead of the large slice of chocolate cake that would surely derail the diet if he had eaten it. 

Colin ended up talking about water polo for far too long after and talked about his ex-boyfriend and both of them agreed that it was a one-time thing. They hadn't spoken about their date ever since and Colin had gotten back with his boyfriend, Mycroft did feel rather relieved about it and it did not seem to interfere with fencing practice.   After that, Mycroft decided that he was needing to focus on his coursework instead of boys but he would be willing for Greg to be the exception to his rule. 

Once Greg had thrown himself back into the car and had eaten two Mars Bars despite the fact that the was going to have a large lunch, he seemed to be chattier but it was nervous chatter, he always talked too much when he was nervous. Mycroft attempted to talk about the football when Greg mentioned it, and he talked about their politics essay which was due next week and they were talking about Macbeth. Greg's hand would leave the steering wheel when the car would stop and he could grab Mycroft's hand and squeeze it and Mycroft tried to scold himself for letting his heart flutter.

Mycroft tried to be brave and he weighed up the pros and cons asking Greg to the pub, he knew that that the biggest con was that Greg could say no and that he had been seeing someone, but at least there would be alcohol to drown his sorrows.

"So in this secret world of Mycroft Holmes, have you been going on any dates or pub and club visits?" Greg asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence that they had fallen into. 

Mycroft blinked and shifted in his seat. before turning his head from the window. "My life is really not that exciting, Gregory, but I did go one date after the first few weeks of university, and I did go out with Anthea after work for 'girls night,' where we went to a conference about The Kit-Cat Club, the literary society, and we had cheesecake after and complained about work, and then I was home for eight. It was an interesting lecture but I am convinced that Anthea only invited me so she could have a token gay friend." 

"You've been on a date? You never told me," Greg's murmured and there is a strange tone that Mycroft has never heard before. He cannot tell if Greg is surprised but there is something else to the tone, Mycroft briefly considered that it would be jealously but he took the idea out of his head before it could grow. 

"So this date...how was it?" Greg finally asked. "How did you meet? Anyone, that I know?"

"He was from my fencing club, you wouldn't like him," Mycroft briskly replied. "Nice looking but was a bore. He is not my type."

Greg nodded and he gripped the steering wheel tight again. "I thought that you would have told me, I tell you everything." 

Mycroft shuddered at the slightly hurt tone that Greg seemed to have before he grabbed his hand for a moment. He really wanted to be honest and tell him,  _I'm having problems as you walk around shirtless and you are far too good looking and I desperately want to snog you senseless,_ but Mycroft did not say that. " I was so unimpressed with his discussion of water polo that I did not think that it was worthy enough to go to the student union and tell you about it as you were pulling pints and dealing with drunks."

 

Greg nodded and he seemed to hesitate for a moment before he spoke, Mycroft was almost positive that he could see the cogs turn in Greg's brain. He wasn't too sure if Greg was that amazed that he had a life outside his textbooks and that he did interact with other people than Greg. His therapist had told him that if he kept himself busy and that he interacted with other people it would help him cope with university life and help his anxiety. He had been reluctant to take Dr Miller's advice and had even told her that it was pointless, but pushing himself socially had helped, and meeting Greg gave him the shove that he needed. 

Mycroft doubted that he would ever be 'normal,' and would really enjoy interacting with _goldfish,_ but he would reluctantly admit that he enjoyed interacting with people with the same interests as his own. He doubted that the would have that many friends, but he did enjoy going to 'safe' activities such as lectures, fencing, and drama society, as the groups were somewhat predictable and he always knew what to talk about, and occasionally he would find someone who was not a _goldfish_ to talk to and who was somewhat interesting. He was also reluctant to admit that Dr Miller was right about keeping busy, it had been weeks since he last spent the day in bed, and he was coping with university these days. 

Greg did not speak for several moments and his face was scrunched up,  the same expression that he had in lectures or when he was deep in thought. His eyes were focused on the road as he spoke and did not turn to glance at him for a brief second.  "If you don't mind me asking and I'm probably overstepping the line...But how long have you known that you liked boys? How did you know?" 

"How did you know that you liked girls?" Mycroft replied quickly,  he tried to hide his smirk when Greg looked confused.

The feeling that this was probably not the best time to joke washed over Mycroft, especially with how Greg bit his lip and seemed to be carefully considering his words. Sherlock had been texting him about his deductions about Greg, and Mycroft had done his best to ignore the messages but he found interest in the deduction about Greg going through a sexuality crisis. Mycroft tried to not let himself get too hopeful, especially as Sherlock's deductions tended to be rather wrong on occasion, he always missed something. 

Mycroft took a few minutes to search his Mind Palace to answer Greg's question, it seemed to be far more difficult to answer than Mycroft thought that it would be. He doubted that it would answer which would be easy to grasp and unlike most things in history, Mycroft did not know if there was an exact date for when he knew that he was gay, the realisation just crawled upon him slowly and he just...knew. He had never been good at explaining things, especially personal matters. It had taken him three therapists before he could find one that he could talk to about his anxiety. It had taken him five weeks to speak to Dr Miller about his problems and for him to even be able to vent about his brother. 

Mycroft rolled down the window in the attempt to fight against the feeling of nausea which crept upon him. He did wonder why he did not suggest taking the train to Essex as long car trips did make him unwell, the car ride home was going to be a nightmare, Mycroft wanted to take the train home, but he knew that Greg would probably need him or at least want to squeeze his hand as he drove. 

Mycroft took in a few deep breaths before he glanced at Greg. "I think that the biggest indicator for me that I was gay was when I was in school. My school was an all-boys boarding school and we rarely had interactions with girls our age apart from when the all-girls school would come over for events such as dancing and sports. When I was in Year 12, that school joined ours for some of our lessons to booster class numbers," Mycroft explained badly. "  I remember that my classmates were excited about the opportunity to speak to girls and be in a class with them, as it was pretty much a novelty for us. But they were intrested in them for potential girlfriends and their looks, but I never understood the fuss."

Greg snorted with laughter and Mycroft was thankful that the serious expression on his face seemed to have disappeared even for a moment. Greg pulled the car into a side of the road and turned off the engine and an air of nervousness seemed to cloud the car. Mycroft could barely think and he had taken Greg's hand in his own, and Greg squeezed his hand tightly almost as if his life depended on it. Mycroft looked out of the car and he saw balloons poking in the gap between the curtains of one flat and there was a banner that had,  _Happy Birthday, Greg!_ , in poorly done handwriting on the door. 

He knew that Carol would be upset if Greg had walked into the flat with a serious expression on his face and he knew that Carol was likely to fuss over him relentlessly until he cracked. Mycroft knew that he had to make Greg laugh or the visit was going to be highly unpleasant for everyone. Mycroft debated his words carefully and he weighed up the pros and cons of telling Greg a certain anecdote of his past, but he realised that he would do anything to make Greg smile even if he did embarrass himself. 

"I had really known that I was gay when I met the estate manager's son, Gabriel," Mycroft stated reluctantly and he tried not to cringe at his previous self. "I had become absolutely smitten with him, especially as he would take off his shirt to work and he was French...I convinced my mother to allow me to spend time with Gabriel stating that I was wanting to study French at university and I would help him with his English, but I was wanting any excuse to spend time with him and to watch him work." Mycroft could feel his cheeks burn when he looked up and saw that Greg had an amused look on his face and was urging him to continue. "I had even taken up smoking because I was wanting him to think that I was cool...I pretended that I couldn't speak French or that I had a very limited ability just to spend time with him and he would give me French lessons...I've been fluent in French since I was eight.  When I had returned to school, my father insisted that I take A-level French because I had been  'studying,' the language all summer and it was the only class that I didn't need to study for."

Mycroft covered his face with his hands and he was thankful that the car was parked as it appeared that Greg was struggling to breathe due to laughing. He did feel rather pleased that it had cheered Greg up despite his embarrassment. 

Mycroft slipped out of the car as a hint that  Greg should do the same. He knew that Greg would be reluctant to leave the car and he would happily turn the car back to London without even saying hello to his mum. A sombre look appeared on Greg's face and it reminded Mycroft of a soldier who was preparing himself for battle and to go over the trench but he did leave the car, thankfully.

He walked over and placed a hand on Greg's shoulder in the attempt of comfort. "It is going to be fine, it is just Sunday lunch," Mycroft murmured. "Your mum is thrilled to see you, she's even made a rhubarb crumble for you, it's your favourite, that is what she said on the phone."

"She does make a good crumble," Greg mumbled as he walked up the concrete steps to the flat and he tried to force a smile on his face. 

He stood there by the door and seemed to be considering something in his head, if he was to just walk in or if he was meant to knock on the door as if he was a stranger. Greg stood on the doormat and he scrubbed his shoes against it several times despite the fact that his shoes were clean.  Mycroft knew that he was overstepping his mark and he placed the bunches of yellow rose and the box of chocolates in Greg's hand and instructed him to say that they were from him and he knocked on the door for Greg, as he had the feeling that Greg would be there all day debating if he was going to walk in or knock. 

Greg looked at him and gave him a tight smile and mouthed the words,  _thank you_ , moments the door opened to reveal a short, middle-aged woman with a blond bob and glasses.  She looked thrilled to see him and greeted enthusiastically. 

Greg's reaction was the opposite and the brave facade and the smile that he summoned up on the way from the car immediately crumbled and he almost appeared to be shaking.  His eyes almost seemed to water and he did not speak for several moments before he spoke, the words were almost a whisper and sounded wet. 

"Hello, Mum." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and the comments that I've recieved have been so lovely! I find it too easy to lose motivation with a fic, especially when I've been struggling to write, but I've been spurred on by wonderful people who have taken the time to write comments and who leave kudos. I'm determined to get this one finished! The support that I've recieved for this story has been amazing and I'm so thankful for it, it really does mean a lot! 
> 
> I'm also on tumblr at Hogwartsjaguar97 if anyone is intrested and I am currently needing fic recommendations, especially Mystrade, as I've been too busy to read fic until recently and I'm wanting to play catch up! I also like to share my feelings about Mystrade on tumblr as well and chat about fic.


	9. Sunday Lunch Part 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His mum had a concerned look on her face and she made him look at her again, placing a hand onto his cheek. "Do you think that you're gay?" She asked. 
> 
> Greg swallowed hard, shook his head and whispered. "I don't know, Mum. Maybe a bit.

_26th of October._

Despite the fact that Greg had hardly spoken to his mum in months and had basically avoided her, he found himself welcomed by his mum in open arms. Within seconds of Mycroft knocking on the door, Greg had found himself wrapped up in his mum's arms. Despite the fact that he felt like a stranger within his own family, his mum did not have any hesitation to hug him. 

Greg tried to speak to his mum but it felt impossible, a stone had lodged in his throat and what little sound managed to come out of his mouth were words that almost sounded like apologies amongst his tears and gasps for air. The ache in his chest which was almost constantly there had seemed to intensify when he saw his mum for the first time in months and it made it feel impossible to breathe. 

When he was wrapped up in his mum's arms, Greg did not feel like an adult, he did not feel like a man in the slightest. He felt that the years had been peeled away from him and he was suddenly a child which came upon him when he realised how much that he missed his mum and how much that he needed her.

He knew that visiting his mum was going to be difficult especially with this time of year. Birthdays always seemed to hammer in the fact that his brother was gone. He found it impossible to visit and to play happy families with his mum and to mould himself back into what and who he was two years ago, a less damaged, jagged, and empty version of himself who hadn't faced the cruelty of the world yet. 

He always felt that being with his family was impossible and it was full of deafening silences as they tried to ignore the elephant in the room, the empty space at the dinner table, the unslept in bed. He had been the one who tried to mend the family after Jamie's death and he was left gripping at the segments and trying to stitch them back into place as he was now the new man of the house and he was meant to be looking after his mum. 

Greg knew that he hadn't coped with the loss well, several therapists, councillors, and support groups had told him that. The first few days after Jamie left, he barely had time to process it and he had to look after his mum and held her when she cried, he did the same when dad left. He made sure that his mum was eating and he had continued to work as the bills weren't going to pay for themselves and funerals were expensive. He had dropped out of college after the funeral, he had left for Christmas break and did not go back the next term. It was impossible to focus or even think about college, and Jamie wasn't there to help him with his coursework. Greg knew that he was always rather thick and that Jamie had gotten the family brain cells and that he wasn't going to pass college without him. 

Greg tried to cope with the loss by avoiding his mum and home, avoiding reminders of his family and what he had lost, really.  He felt that it was a better way of coping with his problems than drinking them away. He had done that after the funeral and he packed his bags and went up to Scotland for the week, ending up in Dornoch for the week. He knew that Jamie would hate being in the highlands and everyone seemed to know his brother, and Greg just wanted to be a stranger for a week and not deal with reminders of his brother or people talking about him.  He had decided to cut back on the drinking after he ended up in Newcastle and he got the poorly done tattoo, after hearing his mum's panicked voicemails on his mobile. He had allowed his mum to take him to the doctor and he started therapy and CBT. He seemed to forget about his problems at work and it leads to him taking as many shifts as possible and he applied the same focus to his studies and he decided to go apply for university in London, so he could re-invent himself and no longer be a hollowed-out version of himself. 

Going to London helped, especially as he was pretty much anonymous in the city of strangers. Most of the friends that he made did not know about his family other than John and Mycroft only knew shards of information.  He didn't need to work three jobs but they helped him stop thinking about his brother, and once the bills were paid, he sent money over to his mum in the attempt to alleviate the guilt from avoiding her. It didn't feel like he was avoiding her if he gave her money, he was still looking after her from a distance. Becoming friends with Mycroft helped, especially when he started university. Mycroft didn't even know how to use a microwave and barely spoke to people, and it was easy to focus on looking after Mycroft, making sure that he didn't starve, and that he enjoyed university. Greg had the firm belief that if he looked after Mycroft then he could stop the past repeating itself. It was easier to focus on other people than himself.

Greg unleashed himself from his mum's arms when he noticed that Mycroft was standing behind him and had a concerned expression on his face and he looked rather uncomfortable to even be there. Greg immediately regretted having Mycroft here with him and he knew that Mycroft wouldn't care much for him once he realised how much of a mess his life was.  

Mum was thrilled to meet Mycroft in person and she had not hesitated to throw her arms around him and kiss his cheek, and she called him ' _Mikey_.' Mycroft had managed to summon a smile on his face but he did not look impressed at the nickname and the hug and had rolled his eyes over her shoulder as he glanced at Greg, but he was still wonderfully polite to her and acted like a gentleman and had started to compliment the flowers in the window box.

Greg felt like he had stepped into a stranger's flat when his mum guided him and Mycroft to the sitting room and instructed them to sit down as she started to busy herself looking for a vase for the flowers. It had been a year since he last went home, he barely visited when he was in Essex and always prefered to have his mum visit him in his bedsit or she would meet him in a cafe, or some other neutral territory. She had gotten new furniture since he last visited and there were large, overfilled bookshelves by the wall, and the telly wasn't there anymore. The living room looked a lot lighter since Greg could last remember. He was tempted to go into his old room to see if she had changed anything. He was more curious about going to the spare room to see if she kept it as a shrine to his brother. He remembered reading about this soldier from World War One and how the family kept his bedroom the same as he left it for almost a century, he had found it odd but he often did wonder if his mum had done the same. 

Like a moth to a flame, Mycroft had glued himself to the bookshelves when he walked into the living room and occupied himself with examining his mum's book collection. Greg had been watching him run his fingers along the spines of the books and occasionally, he would pull out a title to examine the back of it before he would put it back in place. His mum seemed to be amused with his enthusiasm for the shelves and told him that he could pick out something to take back to London with him as she had read every one of them. 

"Are you alright?" Mycroft asked suddenly after a few long moments. He moved his gaze from the shelf and had a concerned look on his face that made Greg look away from him, he hated the look of pity. 

Greg felt as if he should have asked Mycroft the same question, Mycroft had been awfully quiet and he had been organising the shelves. It seemed to be a habit of Mycroft's, he did not care much for mess and he always cleaned up his bedroom when he walked in for a chat. They used to have awful arguments over dishes in the sink and mess in the kitchen, and Mycroft's room and his own appearance were always pristine, and his lecture notes were perfect and there was not a smudge or a dot out of place.

He seemed to take out his stress by cleaning and organising. He had alphabetised all the tins in the kitchen and the contents of the fridge when he was really wound up from his economics classwork before he had to lie down, claiming that he had an awful headache. He would say that it was a sign of Mycroft being a control freak, but he realised that he may be just needed a sense of order in the world. After meeting his brother once and feeling that he needed to have a lie down after it, Greg wondered if it was a coping mechanism for being related to Sherlock Holmes. 

"You know that you don't need to do that?" Greg asked, gesturing to the bookshelf and the small pile of Dicken's novels in Mycroft's hands. "Mum just puts her books where she can get a space, she doesn't care if Shelley is next to Edgar Allen Poe on the shelf, or that the Dicken's novels are in alphabetical order."

"I'm sorry," Mycroft sighed as he placed the Dicken's novels that he was organising back on the shelf, but they were still in alphabetical order. He made himself sit down and there was an air of reluctance around him and he was sure that Mycroft would happily agree to go home. "I believe that I'm a touch nervous about meeting your mum," Mycroft said, "Greg, you never did answer my question."

Greg shrugged, he doubted that he would feel alright and he already felt exhausted and empty after only being home for less than half an hour. "I'll be alright eventually." 

Mycroft nodded before reaching over to squeeze his hand tightly, Greg squeezed his hand just as tight for a moment before letting go and shoving it in his pocket when his mum walked in with the tea trolley. 

"Would you mind making up the teapot, Myc dear? It's just in the kitchen counter, just need to add hot water in it."

Mycroft nodded and excused himself to the kitchen to attend to the teapot. It was the first time that he had been left alone with his mum in months, he felt as if he had approached a lion who had a plate of biscuits in its hand. 

"I've got coffee for you, love, I know that you aren't that fussed for tea, still," Mum said, shoving the plate of biscuits into his direction. "I doubt that you are drinking it anyway. You are probably just drinking energy drinks, coffee, and vodka. That was your brother's university diet. The number of times that I had to tell that boy to eat properly."

There was an amused look on her face but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Despite the fact that she had picked up his favourite biscuits, they were hard to swallow and tasted like cardboard and he had to give up after half a biscuit. 

Greg walked over to the kitchen chair that he threw his leather jacket on and pulled out an envelope that he had shoved into the pocket earlier that morning. He had been saving up his tips from work and his wages from the student union bar. He passed it over to his mum without a second thought. Mycroft watched him with a confused but curious expression on his face as he walked in with the teapot. 

Mum opened up the envelope and sighed at the contents before she pressed the envelope back into his hands almost immediately. "I am not needing you to do this, Greg. There is a couple of hundred pounds in this, I'm not taking it. It's one thing you want to pay for my shopping every week, but this is too much."

"Mum, please," Greg tried to insist as the thrust the envelope back into her hands. "It will cover some of the bills or you can buy something nice for yourself. Get yourself a new outfit for the theatre and your hair done."

He knew that throwing money at his mum wasn't going to make up for avoiding her for all this time. She probably didn't even need him to look after her since she had gotten that job in the office and she was apparently earning a good bit of money. According to Mycroft, her work was going to be paying for an OU course for her as the company liked her and they were going to put her in a new position at work. It felt wrong, knowing that Mycroft knew more about what was going on in his mum's life than what he did these days. 

She refused to take the money despite his insistence, so Greg placed it on the kitchen table under several letters. It would be hard for her to  give the money back when he wasn't there. She had complained horribly when he started doing a weekly shop for her online and he would have it delivered to the flat, he would always claim that he did it to get the staff discount for her. It was a fib that he told her, as she liked to get her food from Tesco, and Greg worked in Lidl. 

Greg went out for a smoke and had two cigarettes and he hid the buts from his mum, she always complained about his smoking among other things such as the earing. He had taken out the earing before the visit and he considered not putting it back in, as it didn't make him feel cool these days. When Greg walked in, Mycroft and his mum were chatting comfortably with another. Mycroft had visibly relaxed slightly but was still sitting in his chair as if he was having tea with the queen.

Despite the fact that Mycroft seemed to chat to his mum about Shakesphere and Macbeth with ease, he kept shifting in his seat constantly and his eyes were more focused on the teapot than his mum. It felt almost cruel that he had left Mycroft with his mum alone and he just looked so uncomfortable. He moved to sit next to Mycroft and discreetly placed a hand on his back, Mycroft seemed tense but he seemed to relax slightly under his touch.

"Greggy, Myc was telling me that you were in Macbeth with him and that you are a lead!" Mum said as he sat down on the sofa, the smile soon dissolved her face. "You've been smoking again! What did I tell you about smoking, Gregory?"

Mycroft looked amused at the nickname and he bit the inside of his cheek.

Greg removed the hand from Mycroft's back and sent a disapproving glare to his friend. "Mum, did you know that Mycroft smokes as well?" Greg asked innocently, nudging Mycroft's side. 

His mum looked shocked and looked accusingly at Mycroft. "I can't imagine why such an intelligent and sensible boy as yourself would smoke, Mycroft. It is such a disgusting habit, and I'm sure that your mother will be appalled."

Mycroft seemed to retreat into the sofa and he shifted uncomfortably at her glare. "I'm planning on quitting, you are right about everything." 

"Good, you don't want to be damaging your voice before your show. It will be so wonderful to watch the pair of you on the stage," Mum replied as she placed a rather large pile of biscuits on Mycroft's plate. "Is your mum going to see you? I'm sure that she will be so proud. You need to be eating up, Myc. You are far too thin!"

Greg winced at the question on Mycroft's behalf and he noticed that Mycroft's face seemed to turn into an icy mask for a moment before he shook his head and forced a smile on his face. "No, I'm afraid. She is probably going to be in Oslo in a university fellowship or in Australia."

Before she could open up her mouth to interrogate him about his family, Mycroft managed to take the subject back to literature and started to talk about his fencing, easily managing to take the attention away him when Mum had started to pry about how he was and why he hadn't visited. Mycroft seemed to respond to her workplace gossip and chatter about her writing class with great ease. Greg felt over his head when they started to chatter about politics and the recession, but he was relieved that his mum did not focus on him.   
  


His mum would occasionally smile at him and offer him the plate of biscuits and ask him a few questions, but Greg felt that he couldn't answer any of them and he kept his mouth occupied by drinking coffee and eating biscuits. Despite the fact that she seemed to be happy to see him, she had the feeling that she was happier to chat to Mycroft than him.  He couldn't blame her, Mycroft had never been 'too busy,' to pick up the phone or 'couldn't afford,' petrol or train tickets.

* * *

It was a relief to have his mum so intrested in Mycroft and it made the visit slightly more bearable. His mum kept talking about Jamie and kept recounting silly stories about what his brother and the mischief that he used to get up to. How  Jamie used to get great marks in school and he managed to get into Oxford and how Jamie was so talented on the stage. She had even pulled out a photo album and sat in-between him and Mycroft on the sofa, happily showing Mycroft pictures of him and his brother. It was almost annoying about how much she talked about him and how she didn't seem too upset, despite the fact that it was Jamie's birthday today, while even thinking about Jamie seemed to feel like an ice-cold hand had wrapped around his chest. 

Despite his polite conversation and cheerful demeanour, it was obvious that Mycroft was starting to get exhausted from Mum being overbearing and constantly chatting his ear off. He would rub his temples when she was not looking and he seemed to retreat into himself for the few moments that she would go into the kitchen to check the food in the oven, and he would quickly brush off any concerning looks and Greg asking him if he was wanting to go home. Mycroft would always shake his head and insist that he was fine. He never objected to Greg placing a hand on his knee or Greg wrapping a hand around his and squeezing it. 

Mycroft seemed to be rather enthusiastic when he was tasked to get a box of Bisto from the corner shop by his mum. Greg noticed how Mycroft's hand reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out his box of cigarettes and his lighter while he was given directions for the shop and given a pound to buy himself a packet of sweets as a courier fee by his mum. 

Before Greg could offer to do the job for Mycroft, as he was sure that Mycroft would get mugged or get horribly lost in the council estate, Mycroft was out of the door and he had been tasked to set the table. 

It was the first time that he had been alone with Mum that afternoon, and Greg suddenly wanted to be anywhere else than the kitchen. Despite the size of the kitchen, Greg felt rather claustrophobic and he debated sliding out of the open kitchen window and making an escape. 

As Greg took out plates from the kitchen cupboard, he realised that his mum had been plotting for them to be alone together when he noticed a full box of Bisto powder hidden behind the bowls. Greg sighed and placed the Bisto on the counter. She had always used this trick when she was wanting to speak to him. She would send his human shield away on an errand and he would be forced to talk to her, he couldn't deflect her questions by bringing her focus onto someone else if they weren't there.  

"You don't need to play this stupid game, Mum," Greg sighed. "You could have just spoken to me, you didn't need to send him away. Mycroft has never been to a council estate before, he is probably going to get mugged."

His mum was humming innocently as she tended to her roast potatoes, slapping Greg's hand away when he reached over to take one from the tray. "I'm sure that Mycroft is going to be fine, if he can walk around London at night, he can manage Essex."

"You could have just spoken to me," Greg murmured as he took out a pile of plates from the cupboard. "If you didn't want me to bring Mycroft you could have just said something."

"I do try and talk to you, you never seem to be able to pick up the phone. As much as I love talking to Mycroft on the phone, I do want to speak to you as well," Mum said. "I don't care if it not 'cool,' to talk to  your mum in university, Gregory, but it would be nice for you to phone occasionally instead of texting me."

Greg winced at the use of his full name, she only called him that when he was in trouble. He placed the plates on the table with more force than he needed and sat down on a chair with a sigh. "You know that I'm busy with uni and I'm working a lot? Greg replied after a few minutes, "Mycroft does love talking to you, he doesn't say so, but I can tell. He doesn't speak to his own mum, she kicked him out. Did you know that?"

"You always seem to focus on other people when things aren't great, you know that?" Mum asked, "You've always been like that, Greg. You take after me, your brother was the same."

The words felt like burns in his chest and her question seemed to pierce him and left shards. She was right, she was his mum after all. It was easier to focus on other people than himself and it was partly why he decided to befriend Mycroft at the start of term. Mycroft was unable to use a microwave and barely spoke to anyone when Greg first met him, Greg distracted himself with looking after him and he looked after Mum from a distance, it was almost a form of control for himself. Greg knew unpleasant things would still happen even if Mycroft and his mum were well-fed, but a part of him hoped that it would prevent some things from happening. 

He had tried to explain his logic to the student councillor, he hadn't had much luck in getting Alex to understand and ended up telling fibs about how he was having money worries and stress from his coursework. He doubted that anyone would understand his anxieties, especially as he seemed to take it out in a seemly positive way.

His mum moved to sit on the chair next to him and place a hand on his wrist. Her hand felt heavy but it was not like a slap of concrete on him, but it was rather comforting. He didn't get the same feeling as when Mycroft would hold his hand, but he did feel rather safe.   "I'm just wanting to make sure that you are alright, Greggy, "Mum murmured. "I'm just wanting to know how you are doing? I know that university was going to be difficult for you. Have you been silly and been on any more holidays up to Scotland?"

Greg shook his head and closed his eyes before he let out a sigh. "I've not been stupid like what I used to be, Mum, " Greg replied after a painfully long minute.

"I'm fine, you know that it is difficult this time of year, Jamie would have been twenty-five today, you know?"

She let out a laugh and the smile on her face didn't look genuine. "Don't say things like that, Greg, you make me feel old. " 

Greg wanted desperately to smile and tell her that everything was fine but it felt cruel to lie to his mum. He wanted so desperately to take the weight off his shoulders and he was just so...exhausted.  "It's been difficult," Greg reluctantly said after a few long moments of silence. "I'm sorry that I've not been around to visit or phoned...I've just been missing him a lot, please don't worry about it."

Greg stood up when he felt his eyes start to burn and he saw the crumpled look on his mum's face. He turned his back and started to occupy himself the dishes in the sink. "I'm sticking in, you know?" Greg commented after a minute, fighting to keep his voice level. "I'm trying my best to do well, I'm as thick as two planks, but I'm going to finish. I'm not just finishing for me, but I'm also doing it for Jamie."

Greg glanced over his shoulder and immediately regretted it when he saw his mum attempting to dab her eyes with the tea towel discreetly. He let out a sigh and clicked on the kettle, taking out the nicest cup from the shelf. "Mum, why don't I go and take over?" Greg offered as he threw a tea bag into the cup, he tried to sound as cheerful as possible for his mum and partly for himself. "You've been working so hard on this, put your feet up and have a cuppa."

Greg hoped that he sounded convincing and he felt that he sounded like a telly presenter for children. He continued chattering away to himself, acting like the carrots that his mum had cooked was Michelin star quality.  "Mycroft told me that you made a crumble for pudding. You do make the best crumble, puts Mary Berry's to shame!"

She nodded and dabbed her eyes again with the tea towel. "I thought that you would prefer it to cake. I'm afraid that I didn't get you much this year, Greg. I only put fifty pounds in an envelope for you but it feels silly now, especially as you've given me money."

Greg put down the milk on the counter and did not hesitate to wrap his arms around his mum. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head as she did when he was younger. "I'm sorry that I've been a right prick to you, Mum," Greg murmured. "I should have picked up the phone and visited you. I know that you worry about me. I'll phone every day if I need to, Mycroft will need to fight me for the chance to talk to you. "

I'm just being silly, love," She shook her head and wrapped her arms around him. "I would love it if you picked up the phone occasionally. You don't have to visit Jamie today, but I would like you to come up and see him with me."

Greg bit his lip and he nodded, he had visited Jamie once since the funeral right before he went to uni. He wasn't too keen on visiting his brother, he knew that his mum would visit every week to lay out flowers and to tidy up the weeds. He wasn't too keen on visiting but he wanted to make it up to his mum. "I'll send some flowers for you in the Tesco delivery to put on the grave. I'm just needing a bit more time."

She nodded and squeezed his hand. It was going to be some time before things would be fully okay with his mum and that he couldn't make things better within a Sunday lunch.  It was going to take more than phone calls to make things feel alright again, for the family to feel somewhat _normal._ Hopefully, they would have a new _normal_ eventually. Greg hoped that he and his mum would like it even if it took a few years for it to be created.

 She unleased his hand from his and she started to set up the table. There was a comfortable silence and it was the first time that Greg had been in a room with his mum without the desire to climb out of a window. It almost felt like it was in the past, just the two of them in the flat when Jamie was in uni. Things were simpler then. 

Greg continued on his one-sided chatter as he started to make up the gravy. It was pointless chatter about university and work, but Mum seemed to enjoy it and was wanting to know every detail about what he got up to. She had a particular interest in Mycroft and Greg tried to answer her questions about Mycroft's family with the little information that he knew,  Mycroft was really private about his family life even with him.  

Greg had pushed the conversation to Mycroft's attempts at cooking and how they had dinner each night. Mum was thrilled about how vegetables were actually eaten and did not come in the form of chips. She loved the story about Mycroft and the microwave, it was so lovely to hear her laugh again, Greg had missed it terribly. 

"What boy goes to university and doesn't even know how to use a microwave?" She leaned in close and whispered despite the fact that Mycroft wasn't there. "He is rather posh, isn't he? I didn't think that he would be your type. At least he is a lot more polite than your last girlfriend, I could not stand Beki, she was awful for you, Greg. "  
  
"He isn't that bad, he's brilliant," Greg replied with ease, only half-listening to the conversation as he drained the fat from the beef.  

"You know that I don't mind if you have a boyfriend. Is that why you never phoned me?" She asked suddenly, making Greg nearly drop the roast beef on the floor. "You know that I'm not homophobic especially with how your brother used to act. I used to stick up for him when he took ballet lessons! You know that I love Freddie and Elton John, I listen to their CDs."  
  
Greg put the beef on the counter before it fell to the floor. "He's just my friend, Mum!"

She nodded but she looked unconvinced at his protests. "I just thought that he was your boyfriend, you used to bring your girlfriends around for a roast. I did catch you holding hands...You could be doing worse. I wouldn't mind if you were gay, that's all I'm going to say about the matter."

Greg tried to fight the colour that was threating to colour his cheeks. It had been difficult to come to terms with his feelings, he didn't exactly know if he was gay or whatever, but he knew that he definitely had some sort of feelings for Mycroft. The number of times that he had thought about kissing Mycroft and he had admired his arse, or thoughts about him in the shower, made it clear that he was at least a bit gay or Mycroft-sexual. He had thought that Mycroft was odd and a bit of a prick when he had first met him, but there was something emotional there as well. He had been reliant on Mycroft holding and squeezing his hand recently and it was something that he loved and it made him feel safe. There was an odd feeling in his chest when he found out that Mycroft had been on a date and he hadn't told him.   
  


He knew that Mycroft would have a life outside him and he was happy that Mycroft was getting out and about, but he wasn't exactly thrilled that Mycroft had been on a date. He wondered if Mycroft had ever felt the same when he brought a girl to his room. He knew that he would have to do something eventually, it would be impossible to go about the rest of the year without doing anything to help his feelings for Mycroft. It was better to be rejected by Mycroft or discover that he wasn't into blokes than not knowing and regretting not doing anything. 

His mum had a concerned look on her face and she made him look at her again, placing a hand onto his cheek. "Do you think that you're gay?" She asked. 

Greg swallowed hard, shook his head and whispered. "I don't know, Mum. Maybe a bit.  "

She brushed his fringe out of his eyes and kissed his forehead. "I just want you to be happy, love. I just want someone who treats you right and makes you happy, you need to do that for me, promise?"

Greg nodded and held onto her hand tightly for a few minutes. He felt relieved when Mycroft eventually walked into the kitchen with the Bisto in his hand and with the vauge excuse that he had gotten himself lost. Greg watched him slip in the cigarettes and the lighter into the leather jacket's pocket, and he noticed the tin of peppermints protruding out of Mycroft's coat pocket. 

Mycroft's eyes seemed to be scanning the room as if he was looking at a textbook and he seemed to be attempting to read the room, but he did not say anything. He gave Greg a small smile before he fell into conversation about his trip to the corner shop with Mum with great ease.  Greg was thankful that he had come for lunch, he doubted that he could ever repay Mycroft.

* * *

Greg was surprised that he actually enjoyed having lunch with his mum. Mycroft dominated the conversation with his mum and seemed to be happy enough to listen to her chatter even if he did seem overwhelmed with the growing mountain of roast potatoes on his plate. 

Despite Mycroft's insistence that he had enough food, Mum kept stacking food on his plate with the excuse that he was looking too thin and he was needing to eat up. The moment when Mycroft had cleared a small portion on his plate, she had filled up the plate again. Greg had the feeling that he was responsible for it, perhaps he shouldn't have told her about Mycroft's parents and family situation, and he did send an apologetic look over to Mycroft. 

Greg did manage to speak during dinner and he was thankful when Mycroft had pushed the conversation to Shakesphere and the play. He loved how thrilled his mum was when Mycroft offered to take her to the theatre for Rudy's show and for a tour. Mycroft sent him a questioning look, asking for his permission. Greg did not hesitate to nod, he had the feeling that having some ' _mum time,'_ would be good for Mycroft. 

Mycroft still had a mountain of food on his plate by the time that Mum had started to clear the table. Greg stood up and removed the plates from his Mum's hands and shooed her the living room, insisting that he and Mycroft would wash up. 

Mycroft seemed to just slump on his chair when she left, he took off his glasses and pressed his hands against his eyes.  He often took the same posture when he had been studying for too long or he had been working on his economics coursework. 

Greg pulled out paracetamol from the cupboard and chucked the packet at Mycroft's directions. "I'm sorry about my mum, Myc." Greg murmured, walking over to Mycroft and squeezed his shoulder. "Take those and lie down, we can go home after crumble."

Mycroft shook his head as he took the painkillers. "Your mum is lovely and it has been a delight to meet her in person." 

"She is a bit much, isn't she?" Greg gave him an understanding smile. "She does mean well, expect food parcels send over to you, she always likes to take strays under her wing."

Mycroft gave him a small smile as he gathered up the forks and knives and he started to fill up the cutlery holder for the dishwasher. "My mum is nothing like your mum, it does take some time to get used to."

Greg started to rinse the dishes and attempted to hide his frown by inspecting the window box by the window.  "Do you ever miss your mum? Did you ever get on with her?"

He could see Mycroft's reflection in the glass of the window, his face seemed to turn into an icy mask for a moment. "I can't exactly miss something that I never had with my mum. We barely had a relationship, she was gone for most of my childhood, she is a mathematician and was away for work often and my dad was the same." Mycroft said in a steely voice. "They put me in boarding school while Sherlock went with my parents. Rudy and Paul were left to look after me when I wasn't in school for the majority of the time, they have been better parents to me than my own."

Greg squeezed the glass that he was rinsing so hard that it broke. He immediately regretted asking, as it was clear that Mycroft did not enjoy talking about his private life. He threw the broken glass in the bin with care in the attempt to avoid cutting himself and he did not hesitate to hug Mycroft.

"Your parents are so shitty," Greg murmured, running his hand through Mycroft's hair. "I'm sorry that you went through it." He reluctantly pulled away and pulled out the cigarettes from his jacket pocket. "I would recommend that you smoke by bin shed. Mum won't be able to see you, that's where I go. Where did you smoke?" 

Mycroft shook his head. "How did you know that I smoked?"

Greg closed the dishwasher and started the cycle before he turned around to face Mycroft.  "You were gone for some time and you did not get lost. You don't get lost, you have a really good memory and you can make your way around London with ease. You smell of smoke despite the attempts to hide it, and I saw you steal my cigarettes and lighter. I can also see the packet of mints poking out of your coat pocket." Greg listed off, taking his time with each point.   
  


Mycroft looked rather pleased with him, "I'm impressed, that was an intelligent deduction of yours."

Greg tried to hide his grin, it wasn't too often that he had been complimented for his intelligence, especially as he was so thick. Mycroft complimenting him on his intelligence had more impact on him than Mycroft would ever understand. 

"What can you pick up from the flat and my mum, with your deduction thing?" Greg asked after a few minutes once he had guided Mycroft to the bin shed to smoke.

He only had a few cigarettes left and decided to light only one, He took a few puffs before he handed it to Mycroft who held onto it longer and he let out a large cloud of smoke before he spoke.   
  


"I'm not sure how you can do it," Mycroft replied reluctantly after a few moments as he passed him the cigarette. 

"Do what?" Greg as he placed the cigarette between his lips. 

"Go around without your brother," Mycroft murmured, his voice seemed strained. "Your home is just so loud and it felt that my brain was going into overload, especially when I saw your mum. I can understand why you didn't visit."

Greg let out a watery sigh before he punched his leg, he wasn't going to cry in front of Mycroft. It could wait until he was home and in the safety of his bedroom. "It's difficult," Greg replied honestly. "Life is a bitch but you keep  going forward."

"My heart would break if I did not have my brother," Mycroft replied faintly. He grabbed Greg's hand and Greg did not hesitate to squeeze it back. He was not sure if Mycroft was attempting to comfort him or  Mycroft was needing this for his own comfort. "I do admire how you have the strength to carry on."

Greg shrugged and put out the cigarette, scuffing it out with more force than necessary. "As I said, you just keep on going. You have to  or you miss some good  things in this shitty world." 

Mycroft did not say anything and squeezed his hand hard. He wasn't sure if Mycroft fully understood him, but things did feel alright with him by his side. Mycroft was definitely one of the few good things that had happened to him since Jamie left. Life had become slightly lighter since he met Mycroft and it had been more bearable. Greg knew that it was going to take a lot of time and work for his problems to be gone, he had been on the same path for nearly three years but he felt as if he was moving, even if it was slowly. 

He allowed himself to lean on Mycroft's shoulder as they shared the last few cigarettes, exchanging a cigarette among themselves between puffs. They still held hands in the silence that they had fallen into. Greg was reluctant to let go of Mycroft's hand when they were called in for crumble. It was obvious that they had been smoking, but Mum did not lecture them. Greg was just so thankful for it, but he knew that her smoking for tolerance was short-lived. 

* * *

Crumble had been a non-eventful affair and it was pleasant. Mycroft had seemed to retreat to himself and he had gone back to the bookshelf, trying to find something to take home with him. 

Mum seemed to be in better spirits and had packed most of the crumble and a mountain of lunch into Tupperware containers for them to take to the flat, including a box just full of Yorkshire puddings. It would save him cooking the next day.    
  
The sky was grey and it was threating to rain according to the weather, and Greg was thankful that the visit to the castle was pushed back to the next time they were in Essex. Greg wasn't too sure how much he or Mycroft could cope with any more family time. Mycroft seemed to be rather relieved when Greg decided that it was time for them to leave once the dishes from pudding had been washed. 

He hugged his mum for longer than necessary and murmured that he would phone her the next day and that he would visit soon. He knew that it was going to take a lot on his work to rebuild the relationship with her, he had been so distant from her in years and looked after her from a distance. 

Mum had hugged onto Mycroft for almost as long and had kissed his cheek, and made him promise that he would visit again soon and that he kept on phoning her. Mycroft flushed at her attention and seemed lost on how to deal with a mother's affection but he did hug her back. 

Mycroft was quiet in the car and he did look rather unwell. Greg rolled down the window and tried to quiet chatter with Mycroft, like what Mycroft had done for him on the way to Colchester.   
  
He wondered if meeting his mum had been too much for Mycroft, he wondered if going for his home for lunch had been too social for Mycroft. Mycroft had continuously talked during lunch and overcompensated for his lack of ability to talk to his mum at first, and easily filled in the lulls of conversation, and brought his mum's attention to himself. 

"Thank you for coming with me, it means a lot," Greg commented once the car had slowed down, caught up in a line of traffic. He let his hand drop from the wheel and he grabbed Mycroft's hand and squeezed it. "I really owe you a favour."

"You do not need to do anything," Mycroft replied with a small smile as he glanced over from him. "I loved visiting your mum. It was such a pleasure to meet her in person and she did allow me access to her book collection."

"I will do anything," Greg offered, reluctantly unleashing his hand from Mycroft's. "I mean it."  
  


Greg thought carefully for a moment and he decided to test the waters. He had the nagging feeling that he and Mycroft weren't exactly just friends these days. He didn't know if Mycroft was intrested in him or if Mycroft had the same feelings as he did. 

"I can always make you dinner if you want to bring a date over," Greg offered after some thought. "I don't mind if you bring a bloke over. You apparently go on dates now. Anyone that you are intrested in?"

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably in the seat. "Greg, it was just one date...I like someone, but he is straight, unfortunately." Mycroft said reluctantly. 

"Right..." Greg let out a low whistle in the attempt to avoid the feeling of jealousy in his chest. "Is he like a mate or something?"

Mycroft hesitated before he nodded his head and looked tempted as if he was wanting to jump out of the car and walk the rest of the way back to the university accommodation. 

Greg tried to ignore the pang in his chest, he knew that Mycroft had a life outside him, but he didn't know that Mycroft had other friends. He always assumed that he was one of the few exceptions in Mycroft's dislike of people. "Hope that it does work out for you."

Mycroft hummed quietly to himself and took his hand once more as the car stopped. "So, have you found someone that you like? Any nice girls?" The words seemed to be stunted, he had the feeling that Mycroft had never participated or had been intrested in talking about girls with his school mates. 

Greg looked over at him and sighed, and shook his head. It felt that this was such an odd conversation, talking about girls when he was holding hands with Mycroft.  "No, I haven't met a girl that I really like."  
  
"Any men then?" Mycroft asked before biting his lip hard.

The question seemed to hit him hard, it was impossible to ignore these days. Greg took his hand from Mycroft's and inspected the wing mirror of the car. He avoided looking at Mycroft and stared at the number plate of the car that was in front of him before he nodded. 

Mycroft nodded and shifted in his seat, he looked at him with great interest almost as if he was a museum exhibition. "You like men?" 

Greg swallowed hard and he felt that his mouth suddenly went dry. He did not look at Mycroft and ran his fingers through his hair. It wasn't just admitting the truth to Mycroft, but it was almost like he was finally admitting the truth to himself.

"Potentially," Greg replied gruffly, nodding his head. "Maybe...Yes?"

Mycroft did not say anything for a few moments but turned his face to the window. Greg was sure that he could see a smile on his face when he glanced over to Mycroft. "Cool," Mycroft said.

The word did not seem to fit his mouth, it was like Mycroft was attempting to communicate with him with simple language. 

Greg blinked in surprised at Mycroft's reaction, he had expected Mycroft to have something more to say. "I thought that you would have more to say, that is a pretty massive confession. Normally on TV, it would have a dramatic scene about this."

Mycroft shrugged but he still did have the smile on his face, and Greg wondered what he was smiling about.  "It's not a big deal if you like men, you said something similar to me. I'm just glad that there is less crying and embarrassment on my end."

Greg nodded and gripped Mycroft's hand. "Thanks for being so cool about it."  
  
An overwhelming feeling seemed to take over Greg. It had been a strange day for him, difficult but it felt somewhat relieving at the same time. Greg was not an expert, but he felt that he made a step in the right direction after being stuck in the same place for so long. 

Mycroft went straight to bed once they were back in their student accommodation, claiming that he was unwell from the car and that he had an awful headache, and he claimed that he needed to recover from being too social. 

Before Mycroft left for his room, Greg grabbed his hand and looked into his eyes for a moment. He tried to think of the right words to say but struggled to come across them. He wanted to hug Mycroft to thank him, it would be easier than trying to speak. 

Greg managed to refrain from hugging him but still held onto his hand. "Thank you for being so cool about everything," Greg murmured. "You visiting my mum and not making a big deal out of what I said in the car...That was cool of you."

Mycroft nodded and adjusted his glasses, his eyes moving to inspect the floor. "You are my friend, Greg," Mycroft cleared his throat. "I do try and be cool for you...You mean a lot to me."

Mycroft unleased his hand and walked quickly to his bedroom, he almost seemed embarrassed with the words that he had spoken.

Greg sighed and leaned against the counter when he heard the soft click of Mycroft's door.  He had a sudden feeling that something had just changed between them, especially with Mycroft's hasty exit. He could not put his finger on it and he doubted that Mycroft wanted to talk about it or was able to.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments that I've recieved for the last chapter. It has meant a lot to me! I also want to thank everyone who has read and kudos and has been following the story. 
> 
> This chapter has been an interesting one for me to write. I would have updated sooner, but I hadn't been saving as I had been writing and I had lost a good bit of work as my computer crashed! So I've had to rewrite a good part of this chapter from memory of the first draft. The next chapter will be back to the Macbeth rehearsals!


	10. Anthea, Sherlock, and Macbeth.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>    "I'm sure that you are the smartest person that I know," Mycroft murmured between sighs. "You've dealt with men before..."
> 
> Mycroft pinched his nose and his face seemed to turn an interesting colour. It was almost as if he regretted even bringing a muffin to her desk. 
> 
> "I've dealt with men," Anthea nodded as she perched herself on the edge of Mycroft's desk. "What are you wanting to know about men? You don't need to get embarrassed about this, Mycroft."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T.W. Period typical homophobic language mentioned.

_28th of October_  

Anthea had never been one to care much for her job. It was rather difficult to care much for a job where she was basically paid to sit on her phone all day and talk to her co-workers while their boss was frequently out for _personal business_ with his wife.  Her workweek never changed and she had fallen into a routine that was almost painful to sit through. Nine o'clock go into the office and start the tea round if Mycroft was not there; half-past nine, she would start on her emails and photocopying if Mycroft was not in the office, at eleven o'clock she would go on another tea round (with the biscuit tray for elevensies) and finish off her emails and make a few phone calls, half-past twelve Anthea would go on her lunch hour, and until half-past five, she would spend the rest of the day on her phone or attend to a few personal projects, occasionally, Anthea would leave the office and walk around London or go shopping. 

Anthea knew that she was hardly professional in the office and she was paid a stupid amount of money for doing practically nothing. She had started to enjoy work when Mycroft joined the office and sat at the desk opposite hers. Unlike her, Mycroft actively pretended to care about the job but would start working on his course work by eleven and he would frequently go out for cigarettes. She had little idea about what Mycroft actually did in the office, other than going on the tea round and do the photocopying for her. He would spend a good part of his day speaking French if their boss had a fight with his French wife and she refused to speak English. It was half the reason why Anthea liked working with Mycroft, he always had some workplace gossip under his belt. 

Having a co-worker around her age was something that Anthea appreciated and she was so thankful to have someone to talk to who wasn't as dull as dishwater. She enjoyed annoying Mycroft at the start, especially as she was positive that Mycroft was full of his own self-importance and it helped pass the time. She would always order stupid drinks for the coffee run as his face would always twist in disgust at the sugar content.  He had called her 'Andrea,' when he first met her and in retaliation, she called him 'Mike' which was the easiest way to annoy him and she still did it even though they were friends now.  

As she was pretending to work, Anthea looked up from her laptop when Mycroft cleared his throat and gestured to a chocolate muffin that he had put on her desk. She gave Mycroft a confused glance before she checked the time and realised that it wasn't even time for a coffee run and was not too sure if the muffin was a bribe or it was something that Mycroft's brother had given him and she was to test it for poison. 

"What's this?" Anthea asked, closing her laptop with a soft click.

"It's a muffin," Mycroft replied from his own desk with only a cup of tea for himself. 

"I know what it is, Mike," Anthea teased, rolling her eyes. "What is the muffin for? What are you wanting?"

Mycroft blinked and let out a heavy sighed at getting called the horrid nickname. "We are friends, aren't we? You did organise tickets for us to go for a lecture tonight and it seemed only fair."

"I don't even know why you are wanting to go for a lecture for your birthday night out," Anthea said, picking at the muffin. "We don't have to go clubbing or anything, but going to a lecture on a Friday night to celebrate your twentieth birthday is just odd,  you are such an old man!"

Mycroft's eye seemed to twitch and it made Anthea smirk in amusement. She was the one who suggested that they go to a lecture for Mycroft's birthday, even if it was a week ago. It had been a recent thing that they often did, they would go a  free lecture, usually, history, art or something scientific, (she always prefered ones on medical science even if Mycroft was surprisingly squeamish about them), and then they would go for cheesecake and wine and then just chat away until her last bus would arrive. 

"Then what are you? You are the one accompanying me to the lecture," Mycroft quickly retorted, his lip turning upwards into a hidden smirk. 

"Someone needs to make sure that you don't get caught up in the rock and roll life of academia, and you ask some terrible questions to those historians," Anthea commented casually. "I know that your uncle was giving a lecture, but you didn't need to give him impossible questions to answer. It's a shame that he's gay, Paul is like Indiana Jones."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and hid his sigh by taking a mouthful of tea. When he was checking his phone, he seemed to give a small smile. He always did smile when he replied to texts, obviously it was Greg who was texting. Normally, he would look disappointed when he received texts, Mycroft always thought that it was unprofessional and he preferred to phone, because of that, Anthea always texted and used instant messing and even used text speak, just to be slightly cruel. 

Anthea shoved the chocolate muffin across the desk to Mycroft, who actually took a small piece.  It was a test of some sort, he would always go for the biscuit box or the cakes when he was either stressed, had something on his mind, or he had to sit in a very intense meeting with their boss and his wife and translate for them. Several months ago, Mycroft had savaged two cupcakes and a bag of rhubarb and custards in the attempt to recover from spending a lunch translating their arguments about their potential divorce. She was sure that Mycroft had never been the same after he heard about their bosses sex life, she had to feed Mycroft a Mars Bar to get that piece of information out of him when he came back to his desk pale-faced and almost supporting a thousand-yard stare.  

"What is on your mind?" Anthea asked as she switched her phone on silence, deciding that she needed her full attention on Mycroft. 

"Nothing," Mycroft replied briskly. "This is what friends do for another, am I not correct?"

Anthea shoved the muffin in Mycroft's direction, it was probably the only that she could get him to talk. "Friends also tell each other their problems, it's boy trouble isn't it?"

Mycroft blinked before he stiffly nodded his head. "This is why we are friends, you are one of the few non-idiots out there. How did you know?"

Athena tried to hide her smirk behind her hand. She had always been good at reading people, she didn't have that  _deduction thing_ like what Mycroft had, but she was always perceptive when it came to emotions. It also helped that she was often a sounding board for her friends as they vented about their relationship problems to her. 

"Women's intuition," Anthea said with a shrug. "Plus you passed my cake test. It's how I know when I need to annoy you, Mike."

Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes at the nickname. The intimating look that he attempted to give her was lost as he had muffin crumbs on the corner of his mouth. 

"What boy is giving your trouble? Is it the one from the fencing club or someone else? Greg?" Anthea asked, attempting to hide her excitement, she always enjoyed hearing about Mycroft's life outside of the office. 

Mycroft let out a sigh when she mentioned Greg's name. Obviously it was going to be Greg, he seemed to be one of the few people that Mycroft seemed to actually like.   "I'm sure that you are the smartest person that I know," Mycroft murmured between sighs. "You've dealt with men before..."

Mycroft pinched his nose and his face seemed to turn an interesting colour. It was almost as if he regretted even bringing a muffin to her desk. 

"I've dealt with men," Anthea nodded as she perched herself on the edge of Mycroft's desk. "What are you wanting to know about men? You don't need to get embarrassed about this, Mycroft."

Mycroft shoved the last piece of muffin into his mouth before he started to organise the pile of paper on his desk. "I'm just wondering how you ask someone out?"

Anthea immediately sat up straighter when the question left Mycroft's lips and she nearly choked on fresh air. "Isn't Greg straight? You are wanting to ask Greg out?" Anthea asked slowly. 

"According to Greg during the car ride back from Sunday lunch, he isn't entirely," Mycroft commented before he had a sigh. "I wouldn't have a chance anyway. Forget that I mentioned it. "

Anthea knew that Mycroft would not want to be placated with comments that she normally reserved for her friends. She doubted that Mycroft would appreciate it if she held his hands and told him that they were going to get dressed up and go to a wine bar that night and that he was too good for any man, like what she did for her close girlfriends. 

"Normally, I make men approach me," Anthea replied after a few moments. "They usually seem interested in me, you have seen what happens when we go and get cheesecake."

" So you suggest that I stand around a bar with a glass of wine in my hand and pretend to be sophisticated?" Mycroft teased, "Right before you end up getting a bit tipsy and I have to carry you into a taxi."

"It happened once and it was my birthday!" Anthea replied, rolling her eyes. "If there is someone that I like, I'm usually direct and tell them that he is buying me a glass of wine or we are going out. It works the majority of the time. It was how I met my ex-boyfriend."

Mycroft shook his head, "I'm never doing that, perhaps you have some less confident friends I could consult."

Anthea let out a chuckle before she went back to her desk. "I'm afraid that I seem to lack them. You could always go to the next girls night and you can consult with them over margaritas."

* * *

 

Mycroft re-arranged the magazines on the waiting room table for the third time in ten minutes, deciding to arrange them chronologically.  Dr Miller always seemed to indulge him and would always bring in new magazines in the waiting room for him to organise, among with today's newspapers and this weeks celebrity gossip magazines there were several volumes of National Geographic which was twenty years old and mountain climbing magazines from the sixties.  It was impossible for him not to arrange them chronologically, the historian in him could not stand dates to mixed up.  When he started to visit Dr Miller there was only a small selection of magazines but when she found out that organising seemed to help his stress and calm his anxieties in an early session there was always a large pile of reading material for him to sort through every week. It was unconventional, but it did manage to keep him in the appointment no matter how much he wanted to leave. 

He had been reluctant to go to therapy in the first place but Uncle  Rudy and Paul had been ever so insistent that he go when he started to live with them full time. Rudy had never liked his mother and had claimed that she had inflicted enough emotional damage to him in the limited contact that she had with him, not including that disastrous Sunday lunch when she had told him to leave as he was a  _disappointment_ _to the family_. Paul was under the belief that attending boarding school when he was seven had emotionally stunted him and the bullying did not help him.  Mycroft had little idea when his problems started and he did not have a catalyst for them, he followed the theory that he had always been rather damaged. It was a belief that his parents always seemed to have a firm hold on. 

Until recent, Mycroft had always assumed that it was normal to spend days in bed when he felt low and that he would have thoughts that would bully him worse than the other students in school had ever done. He had thoughts that would tell him that he was a failure and that he was unlikable, ones that would criticise him constantly about everything about him as a person.  He was convinced that it was normal to have a feeling of dread when he had to interact with other people and that he wanted to run away and avoid social situations as much as possible.

Mycroft doubted that he would be cured of his anxieties and stresses of life, but he would reluctantly admit that therapy had helped. It had taken countless weekly sessions and trial and error with mindfulness techniques, cognitive behavioural therapy, countless workbooks, and medication, but he was in a better place these days.  He had been able to cope with the social aspect of university and the workplace, he had been able to function somewhat better or at least act confident enough that it appeared that he didn't have problems.

  He was even more surprised that he had two friends and a small handful of people who he spoke to. He still encountered anxiety, the bullying thoughts, and he still had low moods, but it had been a while since he spent a day in bed and he did feel better about himself as a person. He wasn't sure if he liked himself as a person, but he could tolerate who he was. 

As the last magazine was placed onto the table,  a tall and sharp looking woman with a clipboard in her arms summoned Mycroft into the office.  

Mycroft tried to fight the wave of anxiety that crashed through him, therapy appointments always made him nervous. The irony of the situation always made Mycroft chuckle to himself at every session. Mycroft stood up and pushed out the wrinkles from his trousers as he tried to summon up the air of confidence that he liked to maintain.

Despite the fact that he was welcomed into the office, the feeling that he had a gun pointed to his head never seemed to leave him despite visiting Dr Miller for a year. He always amazed that he was able to walk in willingly these days, it was an accomplishment of its own.  Uncle Rudy or Paul used to basically drag him into various therapists appointments while he begged and tried to insist that he was fine. It was always a bit of a performance and it was something that embarrassed Mycroft terribly, as sobbing in his bedroom after attending a therapy session which made him address various childhood traumas and cruel thoughts in his head was so _undignified._   It was even more embarrassing when  Rudy or Paul had to accompany him to every session, even having to sit with him during the appointment so he couldn't leave when he felt uncomfortable and to make him talk, thankfully he had grown out of that.

Mycroft gave Dr Miller a polite smile and he engaged in the customary small talk which took place in every session. Mycroft made his way to his favourite armchair and glued his eyes to the fish tank. There was a small pile of magazines, books, and sheets of paper on the small coffee table next to the chair. There was always something for him to organise, it was easier for him to sit through a session and talk if he could keep his hands busy. He was reliant on organising to help him stay in the sessions, as he always had the tendency to walk out when uncomfortable subjects such as his family came up in conversation. 

The first five weeks that he started with Dr Miller, Mycroft never said a thing. He cannot remember what triggered his desire to talk to her, he cannot remember if it was an event that happened or it was something that Sherlock had said to him, but once he started talking it seemed to help. She never seemed to believe his lies and his half-truths about how he was feeling and how he was coping with life. She never seemed to get bothered when he tried to deduce her in the attempt to upset her,  she did not even bother when he used to sit there in silence and he would ignore her or Rudy's attempts to get a dialogue going.  Oddly, it is the reason why Mycroft continued visiting her, she was never fooled by him and was never phased by his defence mechanisms. Mycroft would actually say that he respected her for that. 

"How are you managing your university stress?"

The question is sudden and it makes Mycroft look up from the newspapers that he was organising chronologically into neat piles. "It's been going fine."

The first question and his first lie are a part of a familiar dance that Mycroft knows far too well. He almost found the predictability of the session comforting.  One day, he will manage to get through a session without that first lie and he might tell her everything. Mycroft had little idea when that day would come. 

"I've watched you organise those papers three times now in the five minutes that you've been here," She replied in a casual tone. "You did the same right before you started university and when you were waiting for your exam results."

 Mycroft pulled himself away from the stack of paper on the table and forced himself to keep his hands on his lap. He suddenly felt so exhausted, he always did during appointments. He leant forward on the armchair curling around on himself, his face buried in his hands. This was the only place other than his bedroom that he allowed himself to slump down and lose the confidence and the air of normalcy that he forced himself to wear constantly. He would let the mask slip occasionally and often the kitchen cupboards were the ones to suffer when the anxiety crashed over him.

Thankfully it rarely happened, he did not want Greg to think of him as being odd. He still couldn't believe that Greg actually wanted to be his friend. Mycroft was never believed in the concept of best friends, he had always thought that it was a childish thing. Despite his disdain for the concept, he could easily consider Greg to be his best friend despite only knowing another for several months. 

It did make his feelings for Greg more problematic. When he started university, Mycroft vowed not to make friends and to let himself be distracted from his work. He had somehow managed to break that vow rather quickly when he met Greg. He also vowed to stop his feelings for his closest friend. Despite the fact that he made the vow almost every day, his vow ended up getting broken each and every time with great ease. 

"It's been difficult to sleep, " Mycroft murmured after a few moments. "It's been getting worse and it's impacting my work...I only got seventy-five per cent for my last history essay."

Dr Miller shifted in her chair and she tried to give him a small reassuring smile. "You still managed to get an A. There are more important things than your grades and you are worth more than just numbers on an essay."

Mycroft sighed and ran his fingers in his hair. He knew that he was being ridiculous especially with how worked up he had gotten over an essay. Once he had gotten the results, he spent two hours going over the paper, criticizing himself for any minor faults that he had found before he spent the next thirteen hours working on his next assignment, carefully crafting each sentence and reference so it was perfect. He could have easily spent longer on the kitchen table, the hours just seemed to melt away. He only left his laptop when Greg told him to go to bed as it was four in the morning.  He managed to spend two hours asleep before the anxiety from his coursework woke him up and gave him a stress-related migraine which made him spend the rest of the day in bed or in the loo trying to fight against waves of nausea. 

"How much sleep are you usually getting?" She asked. "Is the anxiety making it difficult to sleep again?"

Mycroft thought carefully for a moment before he offered a vauge answer and a nod of his head. "Four hours or so, I'm usually up at four in the morning. I do need to be up early though, I have fencing at six most mornings."

She nodded as she scribbled a few things down in her notebook. Mycroft tried to figure out what words she was writing down by watching her pen. It was difficult to work out what she was writing, he was far too tired. 

Mycroft knew the routine after he would confess that he was tired. Dr Miller would always suggest that he would start a bedtime routine, trying meditation before he went to bed,  and perhaps cut his caffeine down. That never seemed to work through and it always made him less patient and cheerful than he normally was. He had tried sleeping pills before but they always made his mind slow down and he felt less sharp. 

"Have you been getting any support with the anxiety recently?" She asked suddenly. "I remember that your family is very supportive...Apart from Sherlock."  There is a small smile that creeps on her face when she mentions his brother's name, a similar one grown on his face and he lets out a light chuckle. 

Mycroft nodded at the mention of his family. It was part of the agreement of being allowed to attend university and stay in student accommodation that he made with Rudy and Paul, he had to check in about his anxiety and his moods once a week, and when he feels like he is struggling, he has to go home for as long as needed and he will be taken home with just one phone call, no questions asked.  It is the only vow that Mycroft has managed to successfully keep recently.

Mycroft can never lie to Rudy and Paul especially when they have taken him in and treated him like their own son and they allow him to stay even though he's caused them so much bother. Mycroft finds little reason to lie to them, they have seen him through the anxiety attacks, the days that he did not leave his bed and did not allow himself to eat. They've seen him cry countless times and when his mask slips off and that have been there through his worst times in life without judgment. They are the only people that Mycroft will allow his vulnerability to show and he is completely honest with them without hesitation. 

"What about Greg? How have things been going with him?" 

Mycroft felt himself smile at the mention of Greg, it was almost a pavlovian response to hearing his name. "Things are fine, we are going to be attending rehearsals for the show once I'm done here. I'm also going to a lecture about the early modern French book trade with Anthea, she is a more recent friend. "

She nodded and had an approving smile on her face as they fall into a comfortable silence. It was a reason why Mycroft still visited, she never forced him to talk and allowed him to sit silently as he gathered his thoughts. It was a reason why he still attended therapy, it was just pleasant to have somewhere quiet to gather his thoughts and have someone to occasionally vent to.

"My mother is wanting to get into contact, she is wanting me to visit. I suppose that it is about my brother or she is wanting to make a show about cutting me out of the will. There is also the possibility that she is wanting me to go to dinner with her to play happy family for neighbours and the country club. According to my brother, I'm away on missionary work somewhere in Africa, that is the excuse that she gives when people ask why I've not been around for dinner recently, " Mycroft murmured after a few moments with his hands tending to the pile of papers on the table.  "I was out for a Sunday lunch with Greg and his mother when Rudy told me. Being out for a Sunday lunch was stressful enough especially with how... _social_  I needed to be, and it's complicated enough with Greg."

"I'm so sorry," Mycroft can tell that she is being honest. "Is that something I can help you with? Is it something that you want to talk about?"

Mycroft shook his head and his eyes are glued to the stack of magazines that he was arranging. He tried to ignore the overwhelming urge to flee and go home. He had the same feeling when he had recieved that phone call from Uncle Rudy, announcing that she had been causing a terror on the phone. He needed to have several cigarettes to calm his nerves enough to sit through dinner which was already stressful enough with having to overcompensate for uncomfortable silences in the council flat. 

"Can I see you next week?" Mycroft asked after a few moments in a low voice. 

It was a redundant question, Mycroft knew that there was always an appointment for him, same day and same time every week. It was a part of the well-known routine of therapy and Mycroft knew that it would be a long time until the dance would ever stop.  The answer is almost the same, she always gives him a wordless nod before starts the next area of discussion. 

"So tell me what Sherlock has been up to this week?"

* * *

"Stop the scene!" Sarah yelled out, "Greg if I hear a complaint out of you once more, you are going to find yourself stabbed with a prop sword."

Greg tried to ignore the urge to roll his eyes and his mouth stays shut, the comment that he wants to make is fighting to come out, burns his mouth. He glared at Mycroft, it was all his fault that he kept messing up the scene. 

He could not understand why Mycroft could not get changed for Macbeth rehearsals. It was actually so inconsiderate of him to walk around the stage in a suit. It was far too distracting and Greg knew that he would have to bring that image of Mycroft walking around the stage with his shirt sleeves up and the first two buttons of his shirt unbuttoned into the shower with him tonight. The confidence that radiated off Mycroft was intoxicating and it was impossible to keep his eyes off him and it made Greg want to snog him senselessly. 

Annoyingly, Mycroft was already off his script and he managed to recite each line perfectly and he seemed to glide around the stage with ease. Greg knew that it was his fault that they had been going over the same scene eight times now.  It wasn't even a difficult scene that they were attempting, it was his first scene as Lady Macbeth. He managed the first half of his scene fine, it was when Mycroft came onto the stage, that is when the problem started.

"Perhaps, we can try this once more?" Molly suggested with a shy smile on her face. "Why don't we just start from when Macbeth comes in? From _Great Glamis._ "

Greg nodded before he positioned himself on the stage and licked his lips. He glanced over to Mycroft who had his eyes closed and the confidence that on the stage seemed to not exist when he was hidden off stage. Mycroft opened up his eyes and he instantly straightened up when they made eye contact across the stage.

Mycroft glared at him, his eyes seem to have steel behind them and his face seemed to be an icy mask, emotionless. It almost felt like a punishment for seeing a moment of vulnerability in Mycroft, he often received that look when he tried to quiz Mycroft about why he was in a bad mood or if he had left a mess.

It was a look that Greg tried to avoid at all times, it felt like a stranger was looking at him when Mycroft had that expression on his face. The Mycroft that he knew usually had a reserved smile on his face and would laugh at his stupid jokes, he would wear jumpers and glasses and would hold his hand.  
  


Greg frowned and he immediately knew that something was not right. He had the feeling Mycroft had been rather off since Sunday lunch, he had been more reserved than usual and it almost felt like the first few days that he had met Mycroft. The days when Mycroft used to spend all day in his room and only speak when spoken to, he seemed to have become shy again. He didn't know if Mycroft was just needing some space after the Sunday lunch or if it was awkwardness after mentioned that he might be bisexual to Mycroft in the car.

Things had been rather strange with Mycroft and Greg did not know what to do. He had thought about asking Mycroft out, but he doubted that Mycroft would be intrested in someone like him. He read on online message boards that some gay men were funny about going out with bisexuals and he didn't want Mycroft to feel that he was being used as a lab rat for him to experiment with his sexuality on. Greg couldn't risk losing the friendship he had with Mycroft over a silly and unrequited crush. 

"Mycroft, start when you are ready," Sarah called out from the audience. 

Mycroft nodded and walked over on the stage. The confidence around him was intoxicating and Greg could barely remember his lines.  Everything just seems to stop. 

Greg licked his lips and pretended that his character was inspecting was just admiring his husband. He barely had to act for this part. 

" _Great Glamis! Worthy Cawdor! Greater than both, by all-hail hereafter!"_ Greg was surprised that the words are able to come out of his mouth and that he actually knew some of his lines.  It was almost a miracle.  

Greg can never seem to follow the stage directions that are in the script. He is told in the directions that he is meant to be affectionate, his character is meant to be overjoyed that Macbeth has come back. It just feels impossible to carry them out, if he carries them out, it would surely ruin things with Mycroft, it would surely make his feelings more real. 

The stage directions almost seem to taunt him. He looked at Mycroft who was expectantly waiting for him to say his next line and to follow the stage direction.

_(LADY MACBETH enthusiastically greets MACBETH after his long campaign, basically greeting MACBETH like a solider greeting his wife after war. Kissing him.)_

Mycroft seemed to break character and Greg can hear his soft sigh. Before Sarah can end the scene and shout at him for holding the rehearsal up, this was always the part he struggled with. Before Greg could even apologise for his inability to carry out stage directions, Mycroft approached him and placed a soft kiss on his cheek after a moment of hesitation and whispers his next line to him.

Greg felt that he could hardly breathe and that everything has just stopped. It was only a chaste kiss, Mycroft's lips were only on his cheek for half a second, but Greg felt that his stomach had dropped.   
  
Even a small kiss that had confirmed his suspicions that he was definitely into blokes.   
  


"Stop!" Sarah called out with a long and weary sigh. "Greg, Macbeth is meant to be your husband and you are acting as you've just seen the postman."

Mycroft cleared his throat and climbed down the stairs of the stage to Sarah. "It's probably my fault, I'm not at my best at the moment. I'm tired from my politics essay and feeling under the weather." 

Mycroft shot a look to Greg, encouraging him to come down the stairs and into the audience. "Greg, I'm sure is in a similar situation and he has been working all morning," said Mycroft, rubbing his temple and he seemed to be unsteady on his feet and suddenly looked rather unwell. "I was wondering if I could leave early, Sarah, I think that I've got a migraine coming on and Gregory  would be wanting to walk me back to our accommodation." 

Sarah didn't hesitate to let Mycroft leave the rehearsals early and she even gave him a sympathetic smile. She had always liked Mycroft far much better than him, it was probably because he was the lead in the play. 

"Greg, learn your lines," Sarah called out as Greg escorted Mycroft out of the theatre with both of their bags over his shoulder as if he was a pack mule. 

Mycroft seemed to instantly perk up and become well once they had reached the end of the corridor. Greg was taken aback when he saw a rather mischievous look on Mycroft's face when he took his bag from Greg's shoulder. 

"Ooh, you bastard," Greg commented with a grin. "I actually thought that you were going to collapse as I was practically carrying you out."

"It is called acting, Gregory, you should try it sometime," Mycroft beamed. "I was bored with repeating the same scene over again. You do need to learn your lines."

It was probably the most rebellious thing that he had ever seen Mycroft do. Greg felt like a proud parent at a school nativity play, watching Mycroft fake illness and fib to Sarah's face without hesitation. 

"You should go and teach me how to do that, I will use it when I'm too hungover to go to work," Greg commented, shoving his hands into his pockets in the attempt to find his cigarettes. There wasn't any in his pocket and his lighter was gone, he was so sure that he had put them in this morning. 

"I'm afraid that I only use my acting for good," Mycroft replied with a grin. "I was stopping Sarah from having a go at you. I could tell that she was bothering you."

Greg stopped for a moment and tugged at Mycroft's arm to stop the other in his tracks. "Look, I could tell that I was pissing you off when I kept messing up, I'm sorry. I know my lines."

Mycroft bit his lip and seemed to be rather interested in a poster on the wall for field hockey. He took in a deep breath after a few painfully slow moments. "I'm sorry about what I did in rehearsals...Kissing your cheek was probably a bit uncalled for. I thought that it was the best way to feed you your lines."

The words seemed as if they were stuck in his throat and it was almost difficult to breathe, his stomach felt as if it was by his tatty trainers. "No...It's fine...It's all fine and it's acting, right?"  Greg managed to splutter out, he hoped that he managed to sound rather calm and collected, even though his mind was screaming. 

 _Mycroft can't know that you fancy him,_ Greg's mind told him, blaring like a siren.  _If you kiss him on the stage, he is surely going to know that you like him, even if it is acting._

"Don't you think that it's odd that we have to kiss on the stage? It's a bit gay, isn't it?" Greg tried to joke, he felt that his laugh was bordering on hysterical.   
  
"Well, we are playing a gay couple, Gregory," Mycroft replied dryly. "I'm sure that you will get over it, just imagine that I'm a good looking woman or man and you will be fine. It's the theatre, theatre is usually a ' _bit gay_ ,' as you put it."

Mycroft let out a sigh before he turned around and started walking. "I'm going to be out tonight."

"Going on a date or anything?" Greg asked, pretending to be nonchalant about the matter. 

Mycroft stopped by the door and pulled out a packet of cigarettes and his lighter. "It's just Anthea that I'm going out with, we are just going out for a lecture and desert, a late birthday celebration."

Greg helped himself to a cigarette and stole Mycroft's lighter from him as he took cover under the smoking shelter. "When was your birthday? You never said anything, I could have taken you out and bought you a few pints."

Mycroft lit his own cigarette before he lit up Greg's one for him. He took in a large inhale and let out a large sigh, leaning against the wall. It was ridiculous how Greg found Mycroft smoking so attractive, even though smoking was such a disgusting habit and he had tried to quit several times. 

"It was my birthday, it wasn't as if it was a religious holiday," Mycroft finally replied, tapping the ash from his cigarette. "Going to Sunday lunch and being moral support for you was more important. I really had a lovely time, Greg. It was my best birthday in years."

"You didn't have to go for a Sunday lunch with me, I know that it was probably your idea of hell," Greg quickly replied, folding his arms over his chest. "Myc, you could have just said that it was your birthday, you probably would rather be with your family."

"I had a birthday phone call with Rudy and Paul. The day seemed to get ruined after that. My m- " Mycroft opened up his mouth to say something else but he seemed to shut it before a word could escape, and instead he took a large inhale of his cigarette. 

There was something bothering him, Greg could tell that it was. It almost hurt that Mycroft couldn't tell him what was on his mind. He didn't press or say anything, despite his desire to fish information out of Mycroft.  He wasn't exactly a completely open book with most people, himself. 

"So this lecture, what is it about?" Greg asked in the attempt to change the subject. 

"The early modern French book trade," Mycroft eventually replied. "You don't need to pretend to be interested, I know that you wouldn't care."

Greg took a last inhale of his cigarette before he scuffed it out on the ground, shoving his hands in his pockets to defend them from the cold. He shivered, he knew that he should have worn more than a denim jacket in October.  

"If there is a lecture about Shakespeare or about the Romans, I'll go with you," Greg offered with a small smile. "I tend to like things about battles as well, they were my favourite things to learn about in school. I really love dinosaurs as well, I used love visiting them in the Natural History Museum."

Mycroft gave him a shy smile which was the best thing that Greg had seen that day, before checking his watch, "I'm needing to make my way to the tube, or I'm going to be late for Anthea." 

Greg tried to hide his disappointment, he seemed to experience it on days where he barely had time with Mycroft. He had always just assumed that it was normal to miss his friend deeply. "Right, I should let you go, have fun. See you later." 

Greg tried to hide his shiver and shoved his hands deeper in his pockets, turning around with a sigh. 

"Wait, you are going to catch a chill dressed like that," Mycroft scolded lightly, as he removed his scarf from around his own neck and wrapped it around Greg's. It was probably the most expensive thing that Greg had worn around his neck, the fabric soft and green.   
  
"You should have a proper jacket on in this weather," Mycroft commented as he wrapped the scarf around his neck and sorted out his collar of his jacket. 

Mycroft's hands stayed on his shoulder long than necessary and he looked almost lost for words, biting his lip. He could smell the aftershave on Mycroft, a cedar scent with traces of vanilla, probably something expensive as well, knowing Mycroft.   
  
It would be far too easy to kiss him, he would only have to place a hand on Mycroft's cheek and move his head slightly closer. It would be so easy to kiss him, it was far too tempting. Greg felt his chest ache when Mycroft removed his hand from his shoulder and took a step back. 

"That should help you keep out the chill," Mycroft murmured awkwardly.

Greg closed his eyes in the attempt to not look at Mycroft and he took in a deep breath. "Right, thanks for this," Greg mumbled. "Enjoy your lecture." 

Mycroft nodded stiffly before he turned his back and started to walk away in the other direction. Greg let out another sigh and tried to ignore his heart that seemed to be doing an impersonation of a chestburster from Alien.

* * *

Greg knew that there was someone in his bedroom the moment that he walked past the door.

The door was fully closed for once, the door never fully shut as it tended to get stuck and it was always a fight to open or close it. He had read on a university online form that keeping the door ajar during the first week of university was the best way to make friends and meet other students. Greg would like to imagine that it worked even though it was just Mycroft and himself in student accommodation, but keeping the door open did invite Mycroft to come in for a chat most nights. 

Greg had his suspicions on who was in his bedroom and they were confirmed when he walked into the kitchen and saw a large black coat which was thrown carelessly on the kitchen table that was next to several cards and a small container of eyeballs. Greg had soon discovered that the eyeballs were real when he opened up the container and poked a green eye with a spoon. Greg let out a gag when he felt the sickening _squelch_ of the eyeball, muffling out a curse as he threw the spoon into the sink before washing his hands for longer than necessary. 

Greg sighed before going to the bedroom, preparing himself for the worst, fully expecting intestines to be hung around the curtains and blood splatters on the walls and the floor. He did wonder how Mycroft felt about his brother deciding to go down the career path of becoming a serial killer. It was honestly a miracle that John had not been murdered yet, but he did have the odd feeling that John might be usual in disposing of the bodies and that he would have to solve Sherlock's murders when he was in Scotland Yard. 

Greg gingerly opened up the door with his eyes closed in the attempt to prepare himself for his bedroom to look like a crime scene. When he did eventually open up his eyes, he did discover that his bedroom was in a bit of a state, papers were thrown all over his desk and drawers were splayed open with puddles of clothes on the floor. Sherlock was sitting at his desk and was fiddling around on his laptop and he had a surprised look on his face which turned into a bothered expression. 

"What are you doing in here? Where is John?" Greg asked, picking up a pile of paper from the floor, scanning the room in the attempt to see where John was, he was often Sherlock's shadow.  

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked, closing his laptop lid down with a loud click. "You aren't meant to be home for another hour, I am very familiar with your schedule. I couldn't hear the mammoth going up the stairs, you can normally hear him before you see him."

Greg rolled his eyes and snatched the laptop from Sherlock. "You know that this is breaking and entering? I could get you done for that!"

Sherlock looked rather smug almost like a Persian cat. "Would you actually get me done for it? I'm sure that Mycroft would be so pleased that his  _friend_ put his little brother into prison. He would never forgive you, " Sherlock said with a smirk, reaching up behind the clock on his desk and he let out a sound of pleasure as he pulled out a box of cigarettes. "I've been looking for these, I would take Mycroft's but he takes low tar, he still smokes like a beginner." 

"So you came in here for cigarettes?" Greg asked in disbelief. "You are cleaning up the mess that you made."

"I had come in originally to visit _fatty,_  I was meant to drop off his birthday card from our father and one for myself, but he wasn't here and I had to occupy myself, John is at work," Sherlock said with a dramatic sigh, throwing himself on the bed. 

"When normal people are bored, they go to the pub or they watch telly, they don't go around raking around in people's rooms." Greg tried his best to not sound annoyed, he had the feeling that if he even showed a slight amount of temper, Sherlock would have won in trying to get a reaction out of him. "You are going to tell me what you were doing in my room and you are going to clean it up, or I'm going to tell Mycroft."

"You know that I find you so interesting, Lestrade?" Sherlock announced placing a cigarette between his lips and fishing out a lighter from Greg's desk. "It's amazing how someone with such a little brain can interest me so much."

"What one earth do you mean?" Greg asked, snatching the lighter away from Sherlock. "You are not smoking in my bedroom and with  _my_ cigarettes."

Sherlock shrugged before throwing himself on the bed once more. "I was just wondering how messed up you are. I was wanting to talk to my brother but I saw an opportunity to snoop, John isn't awfully keen on when I snoop." 

Greg let out an unamused laugh and tried his best not to roll his eyes at the boy on his bed. "If you are trying to intimidate me, you are doing a shit job of it, mate," Greg said gruffly. "If you think that going through my room and finding out pointless information about me is going to frighten me, you need to try harder. John has told me about this silly game you play."

"So are fat men your type? Chubby poofs?  That must explain your interest in Fatcroft, or you just have terrible luck with women and you've taken a fancy to the closet thing with a pulse." Sherlock sneered, "I couldn't see anything interesting on your laptop, but I recommend not letting Mycroft see the videos that you watch. I was correct about the sexuality crisis. "

"Your brother isn't fat and don't use words like that," Greg retorted quickly. "If you have come here to bully your brother, you can just get out now. I'm not dealing with your homophobic pish."

Sherlock let out an amused laugh and rolled his eyes. "It's so funny dealing with people like you and your funny little minds. People always get upset at such small things."

As Sherlock tried to make his way to the bedroom door, Greg quickly leapt off the chair and blocked the door with his body. "You are not getting out of here until you clean this room up, you've made a right tip of this place. The eyeballs are going to go right in the bin, I'll throw them out of the window."

Sherlock seemed to falter at this threat and he was speechless. Greg did feel rather pleased with himself when Sherlock let out a heavy sigh and started to pick up sheets of paper from the floor. Greg tried his best to ignore the mumbled insults about how he was an overgrown ape and a peasant, he would not let Sherlock ruin his victory. 

"I don't understand why you are so horrible to your brother, "Greg said suddenly, lifting his head up from the car magazine that he was reading. He was sat on a chair by the bedroom door, blocking it in the attempt to stop Sherlock escaping. "I don't even know why you are such a prick to me. I've done nothing wrong to you. I'm wanting those shirts ironed, you did throw them to the floor. The iron is in the top of the cupboard. I might even give you cigarettes if you do a good job. "

Sherlock glared at him but wordlessly picked up an iron. If looks could kill, Greg was sure that he could be hung drawn and quartered and his balls would have been turned into paperweights. Greg waved the box of cigarettes, teasing him. 

Sherlock stood motionless by the ironing board for several moments. He seemed to be staring at it, almost as if he could iron a shirt through mind control. He probably had a maid or someone to do this washing for him, Greg thought to himself. Sherlock probably had little to no homemaking skills, posh people didn't really need them if they had staff to take care of their smallest needs. 

"You've never used an iron before, have you? You probably have staff at home?" Greg asked with a sigh as he stood up from the chair and plugged in the iron. 

"Why would I need to? I have peasants who do it for me," Sherlock replied with a disgusted look on his face. He would love to see Sherlock's face when he was presented with a  pile of washing up. "Does Mycroft do this?" Sherlock asked waving his hand about. " _Domestic  stuff._ "

Greg nodded as he tried to show Sherlock how to use an iron. It was almost endearing how  Sherlock seemed almost amazed by the removal of creases just from steam. "He does the washing up and the shopping. He even does the cooking occasionally."

"I thought that he would have starved to death by now, I don't know how he could manage without staff, "Sherlock replied as he took the iron from Greg's hand and attempted to iron out a crease. "He is so fat and lazy, those are his worst qualities, that is what our mother says, other than the fact that he is gay. She thinks that he spent far too much time with Rudy and his bohemian lifestyle."

Greg opened up his mouth to speak but soon closed it. It was the most ridiculous thing that Greg had heard in a long time. "I know that you are really smart, but you know that people can't be converted into being gay? There isn't some agenda." 

"It seemed to work on you," Sherlock replied with a sneer. "Of all the people to convert you, you allow Mycroft to convert you."

Greg sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "I've always liked both when I think of it. What has your brother done to you? If you tell me, I will give you my cigarettes." He knew that bribing was the worst way to get information out of someone and it was probably against the law or something, but if it was to stop Sherlock Holmes breaking into this student accommodation, Greg was willing to do it. "I think that this is your stupid way of caring about him. My brother was a right prick to me but I know that he cared for me and that he had my back. Brother's can't show that they care like normal people."

Sherlock folded his arms across his chest and sighed. "I'm only doing this for cigarettes. 

"If you didn't care, you wouldn't be visiting him and you wouldn't have such an interest in me being friends with him," Greg replied with a smirk. "What did Mycroft do? Steal your Action Men?"

Sherlock sat on the bed with a sigh and seemed to take great interest in the poster of the London Tube map above the wall. "Mycroft was the only one who cared about me despite the number of times that I've been cruel to him and I've been in the hospital. He used to get so angry when I tried to grow drugs in the greenhouse, he actually destroyed my plants one morning when I was in bed... He was always there when I ended up in the hospital and he visited every day when I was in rehab, my parents never visited me once or have never talked about my _habits_. He used to sneak out of boarding school to visit me. The teachers never cared that he did so, Mycroft had the best marks and he was head boy."

"Then what happened?" Greg asked as he finished off ironing the last shirt. "Do you still do drugs? I'm not going to lecture you about them or anything. You are an adult."

Sherlock shook his head and rested his head on his knees. He suddenly looked a lot younger than he appeared and Greg felt a brotherly instinct take over. There was suddenly a lot more to Sherlock than just him being an annoying bastard. "I've been tempted, but things have been better since I've met John. He is my only friend and he is the only one who cares about me."

"Mycroft does care about you," Greg replied as he walked over to the, nudging Sherlock's side. "I think that once we've done with tidying up, you are getting a good meal in you. When do you need to be home? I can drive you there, you can pretend that I'm one of your staff. "

Sherlock hesitated for a moment before he spoke. It was clear that he wasn't good at opening up, he was even worse in his brother like that. It felt almost cruel to make him speak to him about his personal life, especially as he was basically a stranger to Sherlock. "My parents aren't the ones to really care, they are under the belief that if you throw money at the problem it will go away. My father is a bit of a bumbling idiot and I much prefer him, but he doesn't really understand my brother or myself. My mother..." Sherlock hesitated, "I am no longer staying at home...I just can't be in that house on my own any longer.  I thought that Mycroft should know even if he did abandon me to live with Rudy."

Greg let out a sigh and sat next to Sherlock on the bed. He reminded him so much of Jamie right now, so much that it was painful. He knew that he would have to keep a close eye on Sherlock, not just for Mycroft but for his own conscience as well. "I doubt that it was abandoning, he was kicked out for being gay. Where are you going to stay now? With your uncle? There are spare bedrooms here."

"Uncle Rudy is an idiot...far too bohemian for my liking," Sherlock replied wrinkling up his nose in disgust. "He will have to do though, I'm spending the evening with John. We were talking about getting a flat together once I finish college."

Greg nodded and decided to clear up the last bits and pieces off the floor for Sherlock. He did hand him the box of cigarettes and did send a few discreet messages to Mycroft when Sherlock had stuck his head out of the kitchen window for a smoke. He smoked most of the packet and Greg did not say anything about it even though they were his last box of cigarettes that he could afford until payday. It was the least that he could do to help Sherlock.   
  
Sherlock seemed more like himself at dinner, he insulted the quality of every aspect of the meal that Greg made him. The cupboards and the fridge were in a rather pathetic state and Greg hadn't been in the shops for about a week due to deadlines, and he had settled with egg, chips and beans for dinner. Despite the complaints, Sherlock ate two servings and ate half of the tub of ice cream that Mycroft stashed in the back of the freezer.  
  
Mycroft walked into the kitchen shortly after Greg had washed up the dishes and Sherlock was messing around with a box of eyeballs. Mycroft had a box of cheesecake in his hands and a concerned expression on his face. He was surprised when Sherlock actually greeted his brother without insult and seemed to be attempting to be civil.   
  
Greg excused himself to his room and decided to phone his mum. He didn't want to be intruding, but his bedroom as close enough to the kitchen so he could stop a fight from breaking out. While he was updating his mum about the rehearsals, Greg could hear murmured voices and the click of the kettle. There wasn't any shouting of any sort and no plates had been launched. It was almost surprising, especially as he had been expecting the worst.

Greg was more than happy to allow his mum to chatter about anything and everything. He felt that he needed his mum right now, even her voice was such a comfort to him. It felt impossible to get Jamie out of his head. It was almost remarkable about how much Sherlock reminded him of Jamie. They were both awfully thin and they had similar smirks. It was Sherlock's mention of drugs that had really hit the nail in the head. Greg knew that he had to look after Sherlock, he had to do it for himself, mainly.

Greg ended the call when Mycroft knocked on the door and walked into his bedroom. He looked exhausted and older than his years, Greg wondered how often Mycroft did have to pick up the pieces for Sherlock. It felt far too intruding to ask, he couldn't blame Mycroft if he didn't want to talk about it. It wasn't exactly a walk in the park talking about his little brother's history of drugs and living with parents who didn't seem to care. 

"I'm just going to be taking Sherlock to my uncle's," Mycroft said wearily. "I was wondering if you were possibly free one afternoon, I need to get his things from the house."

Greg nodded and squeezed Mycroft's shoulder. "You don't even need to ask, just no intestines or spleens in the car, alright?" He tried to joke but it just seemed to fall flat. "Do you want money for a taxi or I can drive?"

Mycroft shook his head, his face looked emotionless. "I should probably go on my own with him. Thank you for the offer."  He tried to give a smile but it failed to even reach his eyes and it felt like someone doing an impression of a smile. "Thank you so much for looking after him."

Greg did not hesitate to wrap his arms around Mycroft tightly. Mycroft seemed to initially stiffen at the contact but the tension seemed to flood out of his body. "You don't need to thank me. I'm going to be looking out for him, he could do with a few friends. A few people who care." 

Mycroft sighed and reluctantly pulled away from the embrace after a few moments. "I do admire your optimism but it is not going to be that easy."

"You are going to get through this," Greg replied, placing his hands on either side of Mycroft's shoulders. "Trust me, I'm your wife after all, Macbeth." 

Mycroft let out a chuckle that lacked the ring that Greg had grown accustomed to. He wanted nothing more than to just hold Mycroft and tell him that everything was going to be alright. He wanted the hardened look that was on Mycroft's face to disappear. It was almost like looking at the face of a battle-hardened soldier who about went over the trench once more. 

"I'll walk you outside," Greg murmured after a few moments. He tried to do his best t to give Mycroft a reassuring smile as he threw his denim jacket on and the scarf that Mycroft had given him earlier that day. 

Sherlock was already outside waiting for the taxi and whispering quietly to John with a cigarette between his lips. The air was bitterly cold and it made Greg shiver and it made him wish that he had worn something warmer. Mycroft had his jacket wrapped around himself rightly and he seemed to hover around him like what penguins did to keep in the body heat.  Sherlock was far too intrested in talking to John and it gave Greg the opportunity to shove Mycroft in the direction of the smoking shelter in the attempt for privacy. 

"You are going to be okay," Greg murmured as he took the scarf around his own neck and wrapped it around Mycroft's. "My personal motto is _'life is a bitch but you keep going forward.'_ It is probably the most that I can offer right now, but Sherlock has people who are going to look after him, even if he is a right arsehole."

Greg spent longer than necessary wrapping the scarf around Mycroft's neck and tidying up the collar of his coat. Without thinking, he placed a hand on Mycroft's cheek and gazed right into his eyes. The worried expression that Mycroft had on his face seemed to leave his face and it was replaced by an expression that Greg could not figure out, it was a fond look though. He was about to peel back his hand from Mycroft's cheek, when he felt Mycroft's hand grab his wrist, keeping his hand in place. 

Greg bit his lip and it felt almost like he was seeing Mycroft for the first time. It wouldn't take much effort to kiss Mycroft. He had been thinking about it for weeks, a constant thought which never seemed to leave him through the day and night. 

Greg shook his head and reluctantly pulled his hand away, it felt so wrong to do this. His body and his mind were screaming at him to just kiss Mycroft. He wanted nothing more than to do so, but it was not the right time. Mycroft was really not himself, he was far too vulnerable for Greg's liking, it felt that he would be taking advantage, especially right now. 

Greg could not read the expression on Mycroft's face and tried his best to count the cigarette ends on the ground. Mycroft grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard and Greg tried to do the same, desperately hoping that he could tell Mycroft that things were going to be alright just through a few hand squeezes.

It felt impossible to let go of Mycroft's hand when the taxi arrived. John had slipped into the taxi with Sherlock without a single word, only nodding at Mycroft in acknowledgement. Mycroft seemed to hesitate before dragging himself out of the smoking shelter, his legs were stiff almost as if they were made out of concrete.

"Hey," Greg murmured to Mycroft before he left the privacy of the smoking shelter. "I'm going to be there when you need me. Even if is stupid o'clock in the morning. You are going to get through this, I'm here for you and I'm going to help any way that I can."    
  
Greg was not sure what happened. All he wanted to do was show how much he cared, holding Mycroft's hand felt a bit pointless. He grabbed Mycroft by the wrist as he started to make his way to the taxi and kissed him on the cheek. It was barely anything and it stopped Mycroft in his tracks, almost as if he had suddenly turned to marble. It was barely a kiss, and Greg was not sure who was more surprised, himself or Mycroft.   
  
Mycroft's smile seemed rather genuine once the surprised look melted off his face. His hand moved its way up to his cheek, almost as if he was holding the kiss in place. He opened his mouth to say something but it soon closed when Sherlock told him to get into the taxi. 

"I should let you go," Greg said,  he adjusted the scarf on Mycroft's neck once more, "As I said, I'm here if you need me...You are my best friend, Myc."

"I've never been anyone's best friend before," Mycroft beamed.

The smile was short-lived, Sherlock was demanding that the taxi was going. Mycroft only had seconds to get into the taxi before it drove off. Greg waved off the car and wrapped his jacket around himself. He didn't know why, but it suddenly felt a lot colder without Mycroft being there.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for their support for this story, they have been spurring me on with this chapter. Thank you so much for the kudos, comments, and views of this story.
> 
> I do apologise for the delay between updates. It has been difficult finding the time to write recently and I've been thinking so much about how to adapt Macbeth more than I should have. I do plan to update soon.


	11. Toast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He moved over to the table and he started to attend to his toast, spreading it with a thick layer of jam.  It was bound to be awfully cold and soggy from having been neglected for just some time. Mycroft opened up his mouth to reply but the words could not be found when he started to ponder about how much Greg seemed to prioritise a hug more than his toast... Whatever it was, it made Greg decide that giving him physical contact a bigger priority than having hot toast."

_28th of October_

Mycroft had been reluctant to leave home that evening despite the fact that Sherlock was in good hands with Rudy and Paul, and that John had decided that he was staying the evening with him. Rudy had insisted that he should stay for the evening and that Paul would be able to drive him back up to university in the morning, but Mycroft felt as if he was an unwelcomed presence to Sherlock and that his brother did not want him lurking around. 

They had gotten into a squabble when he had started to question his brother about his decision to leave their parent's home. Sherlock had not given him a clear answer and had just spat insults at him, and had turned vicious when Mycroft tried to discreetly look at his arms for any marks from needle usage. His brother's sidekick decided to intervene and he politely told him that he should go home on Sherlock's behalf. Thankfully, there were no obvious signs that his brother had been getting up to mischief apart from smoking cigarettes. It was a habit that Mycroft disapproved of his brother participating in, but he was more willing to let it slide for now. 

Sherlock seemed to settle in well despite his apparent dislike for Uncle Rudy and Paul, he had decided that Paul's office was going to be his new bedroom and that the dog, was going to sleep in his bedroom. Mycroft had the feeling that Rupert would be the bargaining chip which would make Sherlock stay with Uncle Rudy, his brother had always had a soft spot for dogs. Rupert had already developed a fondness for Sherlock and had been following his brother around the house and would climb on Sherlock's lap when he would throw himself onto a chair. 

He had offered to stay home for the night, but he did not want to bother Sherlock any further. He felt awfully displaced in his own home and rather redundant with John Watson being in his home. John fussed over Sherlock as well and had tried to probe into why he left the family home but never recieved the venom from his brother, like what he received when he asked Sherlock the same questions. Mycroft was sure that Sherlock seemed to take delight in his masked anxiety, Sherlock had always been good at picking it up, and he was sure that his brother had been purposely vauge with his answers just to tease him. 

When the feeling that he was unwanted seemed to become more obvious, Mycroft decided to leave. He did briefly wonder if Sherlock even needed him these days, he had been replaced by John Watson. The thought of being unneeded and redundant in his brother's life did hurt more than Mycroft had expected, he thought that he would be used to it by now, he was always unwanted by everyone. He decided to leave once Sherlock had told him to ' _bugger off,'_ and before his brother could pick up any change in his demeanour.

It was reassuring to see Greg in the kitchen when he eventually arrived in student accommodation. He was his pyjamas making a coffee for himself with a piece of toast in between his teeth, he hummed along quietly to the radio, Queen was playing, Greg always sang along with the radio when Queen was playing.  Mycroft had started to really like Queen because of Greg, he almost found the music to be comforting and it always seemed to improve his mood these days. 

Despite how he felt moments ago, a smile was threatening to reveal itself when he saw Greg. He barely had time to put his keys onto the counter before Greg looked up from the coffee that he was making and made his way over to him, wrapping him into a tight hug without hesitation. 

"How are you doing?" Greg murmured into his ear.   
  


Despite how many times Greg hugged him, Mycroft was still not used to it.  He found it so interesting how Greg seemed to willingly give out touch and did not hesitate to hug him, or how he seemed to reach out for his hand constantly. It was almost as if he craved physical contact and he enjoyed giving it to other people, and he gave it out so willingly. Mycroft had little experience with physical contact such as hugs, he never really enjoyed people touching him before. His father would shake his hand when he would pick him up from Uncle Rudy or when he left for boarding school at the start of term. His mother once squeezed his shoulder when he managed to get all A* for his GCSE grades, she might have even smiled when she read his exam results, it was probably the only time that she had ever been proud of him or even seemed to like him. He was slightly more willing to participate in affection with his family, Paul always had a tendency to ruffle his hair ever since he was a child and Rudy was more verbal with his affection, thankfully.  

Mycroft often found himself craving hugs from Greg and was often thankful that Greg hugged him without him asking. Greg could just look at him and just know that he needed to be held. He never could understand why Greg often thought of himself as stupid, Mycroft was rather sure that Greg was one of the most intelligent people out there, he managed to get along with most people with great ease and he could easily pick up what they were feeling and know how to react. It was almost enviable, especially as Greg could read him with such ease and know almost instantly what he should do, while Mycroft felt that he could barely understand most people despite his deductive abilities. 

"Sherlock has managed to get himself settled in for the evening, we've had a few squabbles as expected," Mycroft murmured, the sigh heavy in his voice. "Uncle Rudy almost had a heart attack when Sherlock placed a dead owl in the fridge- don't ask.  So tomorrow morning, Paul is needing to buy a fridge for Sherlock's experiments to keep in the garage."

 Mycroft caught the wince on Greg's face, the expression on his face was disgusted but there was an amused glint in Greg's eye, he could tell that Greg had a particular fondness for his brother. He wouldn't blame Greg for having a dislike for Sherlock, especially when Sherlock had stalked him and deduced him. Sherlock had the habit of stealing his cigarettes and he had been into his bedroom, completely destroying the notion of privacy.  Mycroft had disliked people for a lot less, petty reasons mainly. Greg did not hesitate to give out kindness and gave it out plentifully, it was what Mycroft admired the most about Greg. 

"I threatened to throw his eyeballs into the bin, I don't know how your family can indulge your brother with his experiments," Greg replied with a laugh.

"My family is rather unconventional," Mycroft replied with a shrug, "I thought that you would be able to deduce that just from spending time with my brother and myself. Paul is probably the most unconventional one of all of us, he willingly goes on archaeological digs across the world and he watches excessive amounts of Star Trek. I've had to endure hours of it  over the years."

He moved over to the table and he started to attend to his toast, spreading it with a thick layer of jam.  It was bound to be awfully cold and soggy from having been neglected for just some time. Mycroft opened up his mouth to reply but the words could not be found when he started to ponder about how much Greg seemed to prioritise a hug more than his toast. Mycroft was not sure what prompted the hug from Greg, perhaps his smile was not as confident as it normally was or his exhaustion and anxiety from dealing with his brother was becoming more obvious. Whatever it was, it made Greg decide that giving him physical contact a bigger priority than having hot toast.  Mycroft knew that he would be more than willing to let his toast go cold if Greg needed or wanted a hug from him.   
  


"You mean that you are totally into Star Trek?" Greg teased with the charming smile that Mycroft loved. It still gave him an odd feeling in his stomach when Greg used it on him, he had yet grown immune to it. "You are such a nerd, aren't you?"

"Gregory," Mycroft huffed, rolling his eyes. "You are acting like such a child right now."

"You are totally into Star Trek aren't you? You must be, you like Star Wars,"  Greg teased, there was no malice behind it and it was all in good nature. "I bet that you love it and that Mr Spock was your idol growing up, wasn't he?"

Mycroft opened up his mouth to protest but closed it, and decided to occupy himself with making tea for himself and Greg. "I've always been intrested in anything that was science fiction, I suppose that it developed from an interest in astrophysics," Mycroft replied casually, trying to hide his smile from Greg, "I suppose that I've always had an interest in _Space, the final frontier_." 

Greg joined in with his quote with a loud chuckle, and despite how exhausted he felt, Mycroft allowed himself to laugh. He always had a feeling of pride in being able to make Greg laugh, especially as he had always considered himself to be rather dull and Sherlock always told him that watching paint dry was more interesting than having to hear him speak. 

"You know that this means that we have to watch it together?" Greg asked the air of a chuckle in his voice. "How do you feel about Doctor Who? My brother and I used to wake up early on a Sunday to watch the videos of it right before we were dragged to church. "

Mycroft winced as he put the five sugars into Greg's tea, he would never get used to it. It was an insult to tea and he almost considered it to be an act of treason. He passed the mug over to Greg before taking a long sip of his tea. 

"I have always loved it, Doctor Who is one of the very few things that my brother and I can agree about. He doesn't like to talk about it, he has an 'image,' that he likes to maintain though," Mycroft said, a faint smile making his way across his lips. He never had that many good memories of being in his parent's house but watching Doctor Who with Sherlock were one of them. They never had a television in the house, but the gardener would allow them into his cottage which was on the edge of the estate and watch television when their parents were away. When he was home from school, Paul would allow him to stay up late with him and they would watch Doctor Who together as well as old detective films. It was a tradition that they still participated in when he was home for dinner, it was often the highlight of his week.

"Fantastic," Greg beamed, "At least I have someone to watch the new series with. It's not the same when I'm just watching it myself." 

A comfortable silence grew as they sipped their tea. Normally, he found silences so incredibly difficult to be in, mostly they were caused when he had said something wrong or he had run out things to say, they were often so deafening and uncomfortable to be in. Greg seemed to be more than happy to sit at the kitchen table with him as he fiddled around on his phone, occasionally, Greg would glance at him with a smile before it quickly went back to his phone. It made Mycroft wonder what he had done to deserve a smile like that, especially as he had done nothing to deserve it. 

He did often ponder about why Greg liked him or more recently, why Greg had decided that he was best friend material. It was a new land for Mycroft, he had barely been anyone's friend before, let alone a best friend. He managed to navigate his friendship with Greg so much ease, normally he struggled with people so much. He often got so bored with people or he had said something wrong, or he missed something important hidden between sentences. Greg never showed any signs of growing weary of him, that itself was a small miracle, as people often got fed up with him after a day or two. 

"Are you figuring out the meaning of the universe?" Greg asked an amused smile was on his face.

Mycroft blinked and shook his head. "Only thinking about my brother," he lied, it would be mortifying to say that he was thinking about Greg. It was even mortifying to admit to himself that he had a section in his mind palace dedicated to Greg.   "I'm thinking about England's early modern trade with Poland, I'm sure that it is going to come up on my exam." 

"Can't believe that you are thinking about exams already," Greg replied with a roll of his eyes. "I'm just trying to get through the assignments first and my lectures. You are going to get some sleep though? You looked knackered." 

Mycroft caught the glimpse of the time on the oven clock, he wasn't sure how the time managed to move so quickly and how it was nearly one in the morning, he last caught a glimpse of the time when he arrived home and it was the back of eleven. He doubted that he would be able to sleep that night, despite his anxiety seeming to disappear when he was with Greg and his mood improving, there was constantly a dark cloud that seemed to follow him.  He could barely sleep these days and he would be up in a few hours to repeat the gruelling routine of studying early in the morning.  

Mycroft shook his head and rested his fingers under his chin. "Doubt that I am going to sleep tonight. My sleep schedule has been in a state of chaos since the lead up to my  GSCE exams. You should go to bed, don't let me keep you up."

"I've had too much coffee and I've had three energy drinks," Greg replied with a shrug. "I can see why mum and the councillor tells me to avoid them."

Mycroft let a quiet chuckle as he stood up and started to tidy up the kitchen, and started to empty and fill the dishwasher. "Funnily enough, that is what my therapist tells me as well, I had to stop drinking coffee as it completely wrecked my sleep schedule."  The words come out from his mouth so easily, they always do when he talked to Greg.

Once he realised what he said, mentioning that he saw a therapist, Mycroft regretted opening his mouth. It was a part of his life that he kept firmly hidden away, it was embarrassing that he went to one, and he did not want Greg to think of him as damaged. Emotions were often his downfall, he had always been such an emotional child according to his mother, and she would always scold him when he was upset or when he was too happy about things. It had been difficult to cope with his feelings for Greg and he had tried to keep some distance, but it was increasingly difficult to do so. He did not want to appear too keen on him and it was the main reason that he had barely done anything about those feelings, he barely had the courage to do anything. Kissing Greg on the cheek in the rehearsals was probably the most that he would ever do about his fancy for Greg. 

"That's cool that you see a therapist," Greg replied with a shrug. "I've been in and out of therapy for the last three years. It's good to not bottle things up, you know?" Greg passed him the mugs which were on the kitchen table. "Doubt that I am going to sleep for a while, do you fancy watching telly or something? Can I tempt you with a DVD of Blackadder? "

"Sounds lovely," Mycroft nodded before he turned his attention to the dishwasher. He was more than happy for Greg to ramble on about what series that they were going to watch before he firmly settled on Blackadder Goes Forth. As he closed the dishwasher once he put the tablet in, he caught the reflection of Greg on the door of the dishwasher. He was not fully sure if it was sleep deprivation or his imagination, but he was fully certain that he caught a glimpse of Greg admiring his behind. While he was never one to be flattered by something like that, it did give him a rare glimmer of hope. It made Mycroft wonder, perhaps things were not as one-sided as he thought. 

Greg somehow ended up in his bed, of course, he did. He did have a television in his bedroom, it was a rare indulgence for him to watch it. He mostly just used it to watch his Star Trek and his Doctor Who DVDs when he could not sleep or in the attempt to make his mind quiet down when his anxiety or stress was brewing up a storm. 

Greg seemed to have little concept of space, he had somehow migrated from the desk chair and ended up in his bed and he had managed to find his way under the duvet, as they both laughed at the antics of Blackadder and Baldrick. There is something that is rather intimate about laughter in such close proximity that Mycroft can't put his finger on. Mycroft wished that he knew about it before, the physical memory of Greg's body shaking with laughter is information that he did not need before. Knowing this information would make his life even more difficult, especially when Greg would eventually find himself a girlfriend or boyfriend, or when Greg eventually got fed up of him. While it was information that he took delight in knowing, it would make his life even more difficult in the long term. 

Greg was a restless television watcher, he chuckled with each and every joke, he would squirm around frequently to make himself comfortable and to wrap the duvet around himself tightly. His laughter is Mycroft's favourite sound in the world. If they were in a different reality, he could easily rest his head on Greg's shoulder and perhaps, Greg would wrap his arms around him tightly. Mycroft shook his head, he could never let himself get that hopeful about something even if it was in an imaginary universe. 

Once the episode ended, Greg tried to make his excuse about how he should go to bed and that they can another episode the next day.

It never happens though. They watch three more episodes before sleep finally takes over Mycroft.

* * *

As his alarm dragged him out of sleep, Greg soon became aware of the fact that he was not in his bedroom. 

As he forced his eyes to open, they seemed to focus on an odd coloured stain on the ceiling that he had never seen before. Greg soon became aware of the weight that was wrapped around his middle, heavy but it was comfortable. There is a set of cold feet that touch his own and all Greg can focus on is the sound of soft snoring. Without thinking, he ran his fingers through short hair that had a slight curl to it. It comes to him almost as if it is second nature. 

It felt so right and so natural.

There was a groan of protest at the alarm and Greg was dragged out of the realm of sleep, and he suddenly became far too awake. He forced his eyes to look down and realised that Mycroft made the noise. 

"Shit," Greg murmured to himself. "Shit, fuck."

Greg knew that he was going to be in trouble, he was certainly going to be in hell for this, especially when he became far too painfully aware of his morning wood. Thankfully, Mycroft seemed to be asleep despite the blare of the alarm. It's probably the longest that Mycroft has stayed in bed all semester, his alarm was set for nine that morning in the attempt to have a lie-in before he would go to football practice.  

He did not want to wake Mycroft up, there was an air of exhaustion which constantly surrounded Mycroft these days and he always seemed to be up in the early hours of the morning. There was not an alarm clock in Mycroft's bedroom, it must be muscle memory that drags Mycroft out of bed for four each morning. 

Greg tried his best to shuffle out of bed without disturbing Mycroft. It would be a shame to wake him, especially as he looked so worn down, especially the night before. Even though he wanted to stay in bed, Greg managed to force himself to roll out, replacing his shoulder with a pillow for Mycroft to rest his head-on. Mycroft barely stirs. 

"Greg?" Mycroft murmured his voice thick with sleep.

Greg swore under his breath, his plan for sneaking out undetected failed. He knew that he shouldn't have hesitated by the door, wanting to catch a final glimpse of Mycroft. 

"Go back to sleep," Greg said, far too cheerfully for his liking. "I'm going to get croissants for breakfast."

Mycroft seemed to follow his orders and sleep seemed to take over him quickly.  Greg frowned to himself as he did wonder how exhausted Mycroft was if all it took was an instruction to send him back to sleep, perhaps he should try it more often. It allowed Greg to sneak out of the room, hopefully, Mycroft would just regard their exchange as just a dream.

It is almost painful to leave the bedroom and Greg wanted nothing more than to go back to bed and wrap his arms around Mycroft. It is almost as if he is being tested, being teased with something that he knew that he could never have. 

Reluctantly, Greg forced himself to get dressed almost as if he was on autopilot. He somehow manages to leave student accommodation, his feet managing to take him to a bakery. He can't trust himself to drive, a part of his mind felt as if it was in a dream-like state and he could not distinguish it from reality. He still could not believe that he was in a bed with Mycroft Holmes. That Mycroft Holmes was wrapped around him, spooning him. 

Mycroft is out of bed and in the kitchen when Greg eventually returned with croissants.  His hair is a mess and his glasses are on, he is still in his pyjamas, wrapped up in his dressing gown as he glares at his laptop.   
  
"Hey," Greg murmured as he dropped a paper bag with a croissant on the table beside Mycroft.   

"Mmm," Mycroft murmured in acknowledgement, his eyes still glued to the laptop, a pen in between his lips as he types furiously.

"I'll make tea?" Greg asked, his voice far too bright for his liking. 

Mycroft nodded, it is the only response that Greg can get out of him when he is typing furiously on his laptop. He actually feels rather jealous of the laptop, Mycroft was more focused on it than him. He didn't know if he wanted a response from Mycroft, a part of him wanted Mycroft to acknowledge that they cuddled in bed together, he did want to clear the air around it. A part of him also hoped that Mycroft didn't know about it and he could just attempt to forget about it. 

A cruel thought washed over Greg, it was to see if would get a reaction out of Mycroft. He knew that he couldn't keep dancing around the subject anymore, he couldn't exactly ignore his feelings for Mycroft any more, especially after they were in bed together. It would allow him to see his reaction and it would let him know if he would say something or he would move on. 

"Hey, Myc," Greg announced, cheerfully. "Just thought that I would let you know that I won't be in tonight, I'm going on a date with a nice looking bloke. I managed to meet him in the bakery."

He felt awful for lying, the moment that the words escaped his lips, a wave of guilt crashed over him. 

Mycroft stopped scribbling in his notebook for a moment, there is an interesting reaction that comes from Mycroft. He seemed to jab his pen into the paper with such force that it breaks the nib and there is ink on his hand and his notebook. 

"That's great," The words sound so forced and they hurt Greg's ears. "I'm going to my room."

"Well, I can always not go?" Greg suggested hopefully. "We can always go to the pub instead? We can always rehearse for Macbeth? Or we can go to a museum?"

Mycroft shook his head and picked up his laptop and his notebook. The croissant is left on the table, neglected. "I shouldn't get in your way, good luck for tonight," Mycroft replied, his voice like steel. 

The kitchen door is slammed shut. 

The silence that follows is deafening. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for the support once more! I do apologise for the delay between chapters. This one did take a bit of time trying to figure out, especially as I'm wanting to get the Mystrade ball really rolling!


	12. The Tightrope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You are not my second choice, " Greg replied, the words tumbling out of his mouth. "Look, I was wanting to see if you liked me and I told a fib. I'm so sorry."
> 
> "I thought that it was obvious that I liked you!" Mycroft said briskly, "I thought that you knew, we've been dancing around each other for weeks. You seemed more than happy to hold my hand when I offered. I even let you hug me, I am not a fan of physical contact but you were my exception...I know that you like me, Gregory, I've caught you looking at my backside in the reflective surface of the dishwasher... You almost kissed me last night. You do not know how humiliating it was for me to spend an evening with you in my bed and then for you to tell me that you've got a date, even if it was a lie." 

_29th October._

His foolishness with Greg seemed to have been the final crack on the thin ice that he had been treading for the past few weeks. He did not know why he had been so stupid, he should have kept himself at a distance when Greg had offered him friendship at the start of time. He should have not allowed Greg into his bed the night before and told him to go to his own room once the first episode of Blackadder was over. Mycroft did not know what he had been thinking when it came to his feelings for Greg and he did wonder why he allowed himself to be so stupid to let himself believe that he even had a chance. He knew that it was going to end up in heartbreak and there was going to be that inevitable day when Greg would find someone.

He knew that it was going to happen, of course, it was going to happen as Greg was good looking, charming, could make people laugh, hardworking, he could cook, and he smelt delightful.  He did not know why he even let himself get so upset about the matter, his mother would think that he was foolish as well. She had always been so clinical about relationships and often advised him to take a similar approach, often reminding him that a relationship wasn't going to happen for him, as he was unlovable. She had given him a lecture on that disastrous  Sunday lunch that he was setting himself up for a life of loneliness with the life that he had apparently 'chosen,' and that he would never be loved properly. Mycroft had then asked if she ever loved him properly, or if she loved Sherlock properly. 

His mother had then been unable to answer and when she could finally muster up the words, she told him to pack a bag and leave. It was the last thing that Mycroft had ever said to his mother. He was not sure if his life was better not having her in it, but he knew that he was happier from not having to deal with the constant putdowns and having to play the role of the perfect son in her tableau of a happy family that she loved to put on for the neighbours and the members of the country club. He was happier living with Uncle Rudy and Paul, however, he did have the feeling that he had gone somewhat _soft_   from living with them. It had been a culture shock when he started staying with them when he was younger, he had been taken by surprise with hugs and compliments. The fact that they willingly wanted to spend time with him had been a bigger surprise, he had a nanny and an au pair with his parents, he spent more time with them than his own parents until he was old enough to be left at boarding school. 

Mycroft started to pack a bag for himself and started to scold himself for foolish behaviour, for letting himself get too hopeful for a chance with Greg. It was clear that he was just a substitute for Greg until he found a relationship. That had to explain why Greg had been so willing to hold his hand, or why Greg had ended up in his bed the night before, or why Greg had invited him out for Sunday lunch. It was things that couples normally ended up doing and until recently, Greg hadn't been on a date recently and seemed to have a lack of interest in anyone. Mycroft had been thankful for Greg's lack of dates combined with their recent behaviour with another, he was sure that it meant that Greg had feelings for him, plus it meant that he did not have to offer unfamiliar women that came from Greg's bedroom in the early hours of the morning tea and directions to the closest tube station. 

The obvious rejection from Greg had been too much and he felt unstable on the tightrope that he had been trying to walk across during term. It had been difficult enough to keep his balance and he felt that he had been doing well, he had made two friends and he had several acquaintances, he was in several societies, his marks could have been better in his opinion, but he did rather well. Ever growing pressures and stresses, mainly from his coursework and his brother, had started to make the ends of the tightrope fray and make it wobble, and the rejection from Greg had been the knife that cut the ends of the rope completely. 

Often, there was a dark cloud of anxiety that seemed to follow Mycroft around, it usually threatened to rain and there was a high possibility of a storm when times were particularly stressful, and Mycroft never seemed to have an umbrella. It had honestly been a miracle that he had been able to act like someone who was never plagued with anxiety, someone who was so very confident and normal. It had been more difficult to do so recently especially when his deadlines were approaching so quickly and his uncertainty about Greg which left him wobbling dangerously on the tight rope that was threatening to snap.  

"Myc, can we just talk?" Greg's voice rings out clear despite the fact that he is behind a door. He knocked on the door in sets of threes before he spoke. He knocks on the door another three times before he let out a sigh. "Mycroft, are you seriously giving me the silent treatment? I know that I've been a dick, I just want to say I'm sorry."

Mycroft forced himself onto the bed and rested his head on his knees before attempting to do a breathing exercise that Dr Miller taught him. Mycroft is never sure if mindful breathing can do much to help him curb the bubbling anxiety that has been threatening to take over him over the last few weeks.  He takes several moments for the breathing to take the edge off his nerves, he is almost ashamed that he lets his anxiety get to this state and that he allowed himself to get so attached to hopes that would never come true. His mother was right, he was always going to be alone, unable to be loved by anyone. 

Mycroft knew that staying in student accommodation was not an option for him.  The walls are thin like sheets of paper and he could hear everything. He had little desire to hear the squeak of the bedsprings and the headboard banging against the wall. He had even less desire to engage in small talk with Greg's date in the morning and make him tea, offering him directions to the nearest tube station.  Mycroft knew that he wouldn't be able to hold his tongue and he would probably say something cruel, deduce something that would really upset Greg's date. He used to get into so much trouble for that in school and with Uncle Rudy, he could be so cruel at times and he could be outright nasty as a teenager, he did have such a temper on him, especially when he used to get so frustrated with goldfish. 

He cannot let himself break when he is in student accommodation. Mycroft knew that he needed to go home, he was wobbling precariously on the fraying tightrope. He had to go home, it was part of the agreement with Uncle Rudy, when he started to feel that he was really struggling, he was to go home, for a day or for longer, for as long as he needed. He had felt the struggle almost constantly recently, he had been doing his best to push it away. He forced himself to keep busy, he was more social than he necessary liked, he kept following the stupid advice that his therapist gave him, he even made the effort to increase his exercise, normally fencing tired him out so much that even anxiety couldn't harass him.  He had been doing his best to avoid and ignore the struggle, keep his anxiety under control but the stress from dealing with Greg had seemed to make everything capsize. He doubted that going home would benefit him much, but he did need a place where he couldn't be judged and Uncle Rudy always prefered to have him close before the wet blanket of depression really weighed him down.    He couldn't allow himself to be around Greg when the brewing storm of anxiety decided to erupt, it had been threatening to really pour down over the last few weeks, especially after his mother had decided that she wanted to contact him.  He did want to have some dignity left, he could not allow Greg to see him in such an anxious state. He did let himself get too vulnerable and probably made his feelings for Greg so evident over the last few weeks. 

Mycroft took one final breath, stood up and walked to the door. He gingerly opened it up and forced himself to smile. "We don't have anything to talk about, Gregory."

As he tried to close the door, Greg shoved his foot in the gap of the door to keep it open. "Myc, the date isn't- what's with the bag?" 

"I'm going home," Mycroft stated, his voice strained despite his best efforts to act normal and if he didn't feel as if the world was ending on him. "I don't want to be lurking around when you've got a date around, plus I do have a primary source exercise for history due soon, I do want to be able to concentrate. Your bed does squeak horribly and I can hear everything, even with earphones in. " 

Greg's face goes an interesting shade of purple that Mycroft has never thought possible on a human. He opened up his mouth and closed it several times and ran his hand through his hair. It is evident that he is embarrassed about something and that wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow him up. "I am not going on a date, I was wanting to ask you out."

Mycroft shook his head, it was out of pity that Greg cancelled his date. "Gregory, please don't lie to me," Mycroft managed to force the words out. "You shouldn't have cancelled your date just because you pity me. I do wish that I hadn't been so stupid and allowed you in my bed last night, especially when you decide to get yourself a date. I'm not going to be your second choice."  

"You are not my second choice, " Greg replied, the words tumbling out of his mouth. "Look, I was wanting to see if you liked me and I told a fib. I'm so sorry."

"I thought that it was obvious that I liked you!" Mycroft said briskly, "I thought that you knew, we've been dancing around each other for weeks. You seemed more than happy to hold my hand when I offered. I even let you hug me, I am not a fan of physical contact but you were my exception...I know that you like me, Gregory, I've caught you looking at my backside in the reflective surface of the dishwasher... You almost kissed me last night. You do not know how humiliating it was for me to spend an evening with you in my bed and then for you to tell me that you've got a date, even if it was a lie." 

Greg's face turned a shade of red that Mycroft had never seen before and he does briefly wonder if Greg is able to breathe. He seemed to be speechless and utterly gobsmacked. Mycroft is not sure if the expression on his face is due to the emotional outburst or what he actually said. Mycroft rarely allowed himself to get that emotional about things and he rarely said what was on his mind. He was already having a difficult enough week already and he had little patience to deal with Greg telling fibs and making up imaginary dates, especially with the mood that he found himself in. 

Mycroft shoved several textbooks and his laptop into his bag and threw his coat over his arm. He glanced at Greg and sighed, "I like you Greg, but I cannot just be your friend anymore, not like this at least. " He needed to set a boundary between Greg and himself, they had been needing a boundary for weeks. He wasn't entirely sure what the boundaries were between friends, but he was very certain that Greg's and his own set of boundaries had been melting away far too rapidly.  He wanted to know where he stood with Greg on the uncertain grounds of their friendship, he was fine just being friends, but dancing around another constantly wasn't going to be good for another in the long run, it was so exhausting and embarrassing for him, especially as he never knew the steps and he felt that he was constantly one step behind, out of sync with Greg.  "I'm needing some time to think, I'll be here to run over lines for Macbeth before the rehearsals in a few days."

The anxiety seemed to erupt the moment that he walked out of student accommodation, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest. The cloud that has been hovering menacingly over his head for days decided to not just rain, but pour down on him. His brain felt as if it was going into overdrive, taunting him with the words that he as spoken, telling him that Greg wouldn't even want to be his friend anymore, calling him stupid for getting so upset about Greg lying about a date. The voice that taunted him sounds awfully like his mother's. He felt as if he had fallen off the tightrope completely, there is such a good chance that he's lost Greg, he's almost alone without Greg. He's probably hurt Greg in what he said. The thought of hurting Greg wounded Mycroft deeply and it only seemed to increase the anxiety that was crashed over him and it pulled him in despite his best efforts to swim away from the wave. 

The sudden realisation that he's potentially buggered things up horribly with Greg makes Mycroft feel as if he is going to be sick. He's potentially lost the most wonderful friend that he has ever made just because he let his feelings get in the way and he decided that he wanted some self-respect and dignity. How did he let himself get so stupid?

It was honestly a miracle that his legs still had the ability to work, they felt as if they were boneless and were about to collapse on him.  He bumped into John Watson and his brother as he makes himself stumble out of the building, the need for air was becoming more urgent especially with how suddenly dizzy he felt. Sherlock was in his school uniform and he regarded him with the same expression that he used when he was looking at crime scene photos, curiosity. He can faintly hear John asking if he was alright, he looked...concerned. Mycroft had little idea why John would be concerned about him, he is family certain that John has a dislike for him, especially as their last meeting. 

"I'm fine," He forced himself to say. The words felt foreign in his mouth and feel so redundant. He is not sure if he is trying to convince John and his brother that he is fine, or he is trying to convince himself that what he is saying is true. "I'm fine...I need to be going."

He barely gives John or his brother the opportunity to speak before he brushed past them to get outside the building.  Thankfully, there was no one lurking around in the building and he is alone when he finally managed to make his legs take him to the smoking shelter. He placed in his head in his hands and he tried to fight the wave of nausea that was threatening to rise. He cannot possibly show his face in university anymore, he has outright humiliated himself in front of Greg, John, and his brother. They are all going to think so poorly of him now. They were probably talking about him right now, most definitely mocking him. Mycroft could not blame them, he has made himself look completely foolish.

His fingers fumble and are uncoordinated as he placed a cigarette between his lips in the attempt to calm himself down. It is impossible for him to use his lighter with how badly his hands are shaking as if he has been exposed to low temperatures and he's not worn gloves.  He is about to give up  when someone lets out a soft sigh and takes the lighter from his shaking hands, and lights his cigarette for him. He feels even more humiliated when he looked up to see Sherlock standing in front of him. 

Mycroft instantly forced himself to sit up, somehow he managed to force the air of dignity to surround him. There is little that he can say right now, especially when he has just utterly embarrassed himself in front of people. The anxiety has thankfully settled into just a simmer since he has gone outside. It's almost a relief knowing that he won't be able to show his face in university again, he would have to study somewhere else. Normally, the thought of never seeing Greg again would horrify Mycroft, but it just seemed wonderful. He could apply for Oxford once more and he would just never let himself get attached or make friends with anyone, he wouldn't repeat the mistakes and his foolish behaviour. He could even apply for university in France and live there forever, it would mean that the possibility of bumping into John Watson an English hospital was nonexistent. It seemed like a perfect plan.

"If you are going to bother me, save it for another day," Mycroft said briskly, trying his best to sound confident. "I'm really not in the mood."

"Your anxiety has been awful again, hasn't it? You can tell me, I told Greg to stay upstairs, I thought that you wouldn't want to be bothered when you are like this," Sherlock stated matter of fact after a few moments. "It's easy to tell, you've put on weight, despite the increased visits to the gym. That is one of your older shirts that you've got on. The ones that you tend to wear these days tend to be more form-fitting.  You've hardly been sleeping as well, you look more terrible than usual."

Mycroft knew that there was little point in lying to his brother. It was rather hypocritical to tell his brother the wrongs of lying when he would do it himself. He didn't say anything to his brother for several moments, it was embarrassing that his brother knew about his anxiety, it was no wonder that Sherlock did not respect him. "Mummy has been wanting to get into contact with me," Mycroft murmured once he had summoned up the courage to talk after a long puff of his cigarette. "I'm not sure what she is wanting, she's not spoken to me since I apparently ruined her Sunday lunch."

"You did let your temper get in the way, Mycroft," Sherlock commented, lighting his own cigarette. "That lunch was a disaster and you devastated her when you said that you had little interest in having Janine as a girlfriend. I don't even know how the topic of conversion therapy became dinner time conversation, I was too high."

Mycroft stopped himself from scolding Sherlock for smoking but it would be so hypocritical to do so, especially as he was relying on smoking to help his nerves.  "That was when you had a sudden interest in baking, I've still not forgiven you for that brownie that you let me eat."

Sherlock let out a deep chuckle, tapping the ash away from his cigarette.  It didn't last long before Sherlock looked down at him, a reluctant look of concern was on his features, Mycroft had never seen that expression on Sherlock's face before. "So...you are going to Rudy's? What's caused this?"

"University stress," Mycroft replied briskly. "Nothing for you to be concerned about."

"I'm only asking you to be polite, I know that you are upset about Greg," Sherlock replied, "Among other stresses, of course, you do have that agreement with Rudy though. How many hours are you studying?"

Mycroft blinked at the question, it was one that his therapist and Rudy used to judge his anxiety. The grades that he obtained were one of the greatest stresses that he dealt with, Mycroft knew that he put too much pressure on himself to do well. The anxiety for his grades often manifested in his studying, he often felt guilty for missing valuable study time and among with the stress, kept him at the kitchen table for all hours of the day.  He did have time for activities such as societies and to exercise, and he did have a job, but he always tried to compensate for the time not studying. The stress of not studying woke him up at four in the morning, he listened to lecture recordings at the gym and on the commute, and he did spend most of his work day doing his coursework once his morning tasks were done, he tended to squeeze in work whenever he could, he made every minute count. He could usually cope with the gruelling schedule rather well, Greg was out for the majority of the day and never questioned his study habits and food would always somehow appear on the table when he was studying. He did rather well until he gave himself a stress-related migraine, he was prone to those, especially right before he had a deadline. 

"Thirteen on average, give or take an hour," Mycroft replied with a shrug. "I wanted to deal with the lion before it escaped the cage. I stupidly let my anxieties get the better of me. I only need a day or two at home, I need time to think."

Sherlock nodded, shuffling on his feet awkwardly. "Do you want to talk about what is bothering you? We can talk about Greg?"

Mycroft shook his head, he had little desire to talk about his feelings with his brother and it was obvious that Sherlock had the same sentiment. Sherlock looked relieved. "You can fake a phone call if you wish, there isn't a best way to end this conversation."

Sherlock nodded, scuffed his cigarette onto the ground before he walked away without saying a word, not even pretending to have a phone call that he needed to attend to. 

Mycroft placed his head in his hands and sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a short chapter this update, I did feel the need to write especially in such an uncertain time in the world, I tend to take refuge in fandom in times of trouble of my life, and I hope that this can be a bit of distraction for people, even if it is for a few moments. Writing this and reading other wonderful author's works have been a wonderful distraction and comfort for me. I hope that everyone stays safe!
> 
> Mycroft's experiences with anxiety have largely been based on my own, especially when I was in university, especially with the stress that he experiences and how he reacts in regards to his grades. It has been so interesting to re-visit that part of my life, especially as I barely focused on it that much when I was going through that situation and I feel like a very different person these days. I do promise that the next chapter will be a lot more cheerful! 
> 
> Thank you so much for the support for this story!


	13. Bi like Bowie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> '' Greg went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer for himself, and took a long swig out of it, almost as if it could give him the courage to speak. "I'm bisexual," He said eventually. "Bi like Bowie."'

_29th October._

Thankfully without question or the need for explanation, Uncle Rudy picked him up from a coffee shop that was a short distance from student accommodation in the attempt to nurse his hurt feelings with a raspberry and white chocolate scone and tea. Within twenty minutes of his phone call, Mycroft caught the glimpse of a red Fiat on the side of the street and the appearance of his uncle, who upon seeing him, gave his shoulder a firm squeeze before taking his bag to the car. 

Mycroft had not given Uncle Rudy any information or detail about his sudden desire to go home, but he had the feeling that Rudy already knew everything or could work how he was feeling without much effort. Rudy was just so perceptive about people and had the ability to understand them, figure them out so well with just a glance, it had assisted wonderfully in his acting and his writing career.  Mycroft did not consider many people to be that intelligent, but Uncle Rudy was one of the few people that he held with high regard, he was the one who taught himself and Sherlock the art of deduction and he had a fine mastery of social ability.  Mycroft often thought that it was a pity that Uncle Rudy decided to drop out of university to pursue a rather bohemian lifestyle.

Throughout the car ride home, Uncle Rudy had tried to engage him in pointless conversation in the attempt to alleviate his anxiety. He never asked about what happened or how he was,  while Mycroft was more honest with Rudy than with most people, he did not enjoy talking about how he felt the majority of the time, and he did not feel the desire to get upset and embarrass himself in the car. Despite his awful mood, Mycroft decided to humour Rudy and found himself discussing the matter of Paul making a chicken korma for dinner instead of a lasange with the same seriousness as he used when discussing the economic impact of the recent recession on small businesses.  It was mundane chatter but it was rather comforting. Mycroft always found the light conversation about the matters of family life to be rather comforting these days especially when his nerves and anxieties were acting up. 

The anxiety had thankfully lessened when he walked through the door, a low simmer compared to how it was before. Mycroft barely had the time to place his bag to the ground and take off his coat before Rupert decided to launch himself at him with a loud growl and his tail moving rapidly from side to side. The dog was always the most pleased to see him when he visited home, he did briefly entertain the thought that Greg had a similar reaction when they bumped into another in the kitchen. 

"How are you doing, 'Croft?" Paul called out from the kitchen, wiping his hands with a tea towel. "Back so soon?  You wouldn't have thought about it with how Rupert is acting." 

Mycroft let out a sigh and debate how honest he wanted to be, and placed more his focus onto Rupert, who had occupied himself with chasing his tail. "I missed Rupert, clearly not as much as he missed me, but I'm wagging my tail internally though."

The two of them let out a chuckle, they always found him funny for some strange reason, it was rather quaint. Rudy placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze before he offered to take care of his bag. His school books were usually stashed away with minutes of him arriving in the attempt to force him to have a break from studying, especially when his nerves were running strong and he was temperamental from stress. Mycroft knew where Rudy locked his books away, it was the same place where the Christmas presents were stashed and he discovered how to pick the padlock when he was nine, but he never once tried to sneak the books out, as he didn't want Rudy to have reason to not want him anymore. 

"'Croft, are you wanting to get some lunch and we can watch Star Trek? You are probably bored of staring at textbooks all day," Paul said. "Or if you want, you can help me with the garden, I've got beetroot that needs to get taken out."

"You are a probably a bit tired, aren't you, Mycroft?" Rudy asked, even though he already knew the answer. "Are you wanting to make another appointment with Dr Miller? I can make one for you when you have a nap, and we can have a chat later."

Mycroft tried his best to resist rolling his eyes. He had barely been in the flat for ten minutes and Rudy was far too overbearing for his liking. He felt too tired to even protest and insist that he was fine. Exhaustion just seemed to fill every part of his body and weighed him down, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. The bouts of anxiety were quickly placed with exhaustion once he had calmed down enough, it was better than the migraines that came with stress.  "I'm just going to go to bed now," Mycroft murmured, trying to hide the tiredness in his voice. "I've stayed up far too late for my liking over the last few days with coursework." 

"Mycroft, you know that I don't like it when you stay up too late studying," Rudy scolded as he gave his shoulder a push into his bedroom. "It just makes you so grumpy and you do make yourself so poorly. I cannot understand it, I have to tell your brother to go to school and study, and I have to confiscate textbooks off you and make you sleep. The other student's parents probably wish that their children study as much as you." 

"Love, I'm sure that 'Croft doesn't need to be nagged by you," Paul said, gesturing a spoon in Rudy's direction. "He is an adult and he has heard your lecture about taking breaks hundred of times. Funnily enough, I have probably given you the same lecture about five thousand times in the eighteen years that we've been together."

"I should just go to bed before you start squabbling with another, " Mycroft replied as he reached down to scratch Rupert's ears. "I do not want to have flashbacks of listening to my parent's arguing about  if the wallpaper matches the Parker Knoll's suite." 

"That reminds me, Mycroft," Rudy commented at the mention of his parents. "The  Wicked Witch of the West tried to phone the other day, I did tell her to bugger off on your behalf."

"You shouldn't call your sister that," Paul scolded lightly even though it was clear that Paul had little bother about the insult. "Even though, I did find it amusing when you wanted to give the dog the name of your brother-in-law. It would be a shame to do it though, Siger is such a terrible name."

The twitch of amusement on Mycroft's lips was short-lived, he did wonder why his mother decided to have the sudden desire to talk to him. The feeling of dread made his way to his stomach and settled heavily like a stone.  Along with dealing with university stress and Greg, his mother had been giving him the most distress. It was a special talent of hers, putting him at unease even at the mention of her. 

"You don't have to talk to your mother," Rudy said as he pushed open his bedroom door for him. "She was never interested in you as a child, I don't see why she would be interested now.  Go and get some sleep now, we can have that chat later, alright?" 

Mycroft nodded and wordlessly went to his bedroom, Rupert followed him in, sneaking under the duvet. His head barely hit the pillow before he was asleep.

* * *

Greg knew that he had buggered things up massively and he had little idea on how he could fix things, or even make them slightly better. He did wonder how he had been so increasingly stupid and how he managed to miss so many signs, as it had been so clear that he and Mycroft had been more than just friends for some time. 

It should have been obvious that Mycroft liked him, compared to most of the girls that he had dated, Mycroft had been relatively straight forward about it. He never had to play the cat and mouse game of trying to find out bits of information from Mycroft, he never had to navigate through a girl that he liked friends group to see if she liked him. Mycroft never seemed to blow hot and cold with him, all the girls that he went out with did that and it made Greg fairly certain that maybe he had a type.  He and Mycroft held hands...used to hold hands and Mycroft was more willing to be social for him and had gone for a Sunday lunch for him and even joined the drama society with him, Mycroft even endured being in the same room as him when the football was on the telly. They had even been in bed together. The signs had been so bluntly obvious, almost as if they were written on a neon sign that was right in front of him. 

It should have been so obvious that Mycroft had a thing for him, but Greg did not know if he not noticed the signs or had believed strongly enough that Mycroft wouldn't be interested in a bit of rough from a council estate, that he had become ignorant to any obvious tells. It was so much easier with girls, he never had the best luck with them in the past and he had gone on terrible dates and had awful girlfriends, but at least he knew the signs and what to do when one was interested. It was a comfortable path that he knew well, he could navigate flirting and he knew how to ask them on a date and what to do after the date.  It was just a different world when it came to men, Greg had little idea on how he was meant to flirt with a man when he was sober, he seemed to not have a problem when he was in gay bars when he was younger with a good bit of dutch courage in him. 

Sherlock had burst into the kitchen without even a knock on the door, John was trailing behind him with a confused expression on his face. "Why is my brother upset?" Sherlock barked at him. "You must have done something stupid, of course, you have, especially with your low IQ."

Sherlock contained to spit feathers at him for some time, not giving Greg the opportunity to open his mouth to even explain what happened.  He let Sherlock insult and bark at him, he felt that he deserved it. He had the feeling that Mycroft wanted to do the same to him once he told that fib but he had restrained himself and he was rather professional and cool right before he stormed out.  He wanted nothing more than to confront Mycroft right before he went home, try to explain what happened and hopefully make things alright again, but Sherlock had prevented him from leaving and seemed to have made John block the door. 

"Sherlock, just let me go and talk to Myc," Greg said with a defeated sigh after Sherlock had insulted his intelligence and his economic status several times. 

" _Myc?_ " Sherlock said, disgusted. "You call my brother _'Myc?'_ No wonder he is upset with you, among other things,  he hates it when people mess up his name. I don't know why he fancies you as when you open your mouth, Lestrade, the university's academic ranking goes down several places."

"Mycroft fancies Greg?" John asked in disbelief. "How on earth did you figure that out? Mycroft barely lets his eyes wander from a textbook every time that I've seen him."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "If you want to know something even more shocking and disgusting, Lestrade fancies my brother, it's absolutely revolting." Sherlock made his way to the door and opened it forcefully but did not leave and turned around to speak once more. "When I find out what you've done to upset my brother, I'm not going to be happy, he is even more annoying when he is upset and I am going to be the one who suffers." 

Sherlock left the kitchen with a slam of the door that Greg felt the impact like he had been hit in the face by it. John stayed in the kitchen, seeming more than happy to avoid Sherlock when he was in a huff. 

"What on earth was that about?" John asked as he leaned against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed over his chest. "Sherlock and were going to my room and Mycroft is in a right state, he wasn't himself. What did you do? Break his favourite mug? Bring a girl to your room?"

Greg hid his face in his hands and let out a deep sigh. "It is such a long story," he answered. 

"Got all day," John said with a shrug. "It must have been something, as Sherlock is pissed and he apparently hates Mycroft...So are you gay? Good for you if you  are, never saw it coming, admittedly."

Greg opened up his mouth to speak but he could not find the words. There wasn't an easy way to explain it and it almost felt that John would be intruding on his life with Mycroft. Their friendship wasn't exactly a secret and he didn't really care if people teased him for being friends with someone who his classmates deemed as being 'odd,' their opinions didn't tarnish Mycroft in his eyes. He hadn't told anyone other than his mum and Mycroft that he liked men, he hadn't told anyone else that he fancied Mycroft and how much he enjoyed holding his hand. It was a secret, the dancing around another, it was just for the two of them. 

Greg went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer for himself, and took a long swig out of it, almost as if it could give him the courage to speak. "I'm bisexual," He said eventually. "Bi like Bowie." It was the first time that he had actually said the word, _bisexual_ to describe himself. Looking back on it, he knew that he liked men for years but he had never put a label on it until recently, he never really considered it to be an option, but he stumbled upon the definition of the word online but it clicked with him. 

John nodded and give him a smile, supportive if Greg had to describe it. "So...Greg, is this a new thing?"

Greg shook his head and took another swig of his beer. "I've liked blokes since I was a teenager...Girls are easier, you know? I know when they are flirting, I know how to ask them out, but-"

"You fancy Mycroft and you've messed things up terribly?" John asked, finishing his sentence. 

The urge to smoke seemed to overwhelm Greg, it was always a default response to any sort of stress, smoke. "Yeah," Greg said with a humourless bark.  "I tried to see if he liked me...I told a fib and it upset him." He leant back on his chair with a defeated sigh, hiding his face in his hands. "He actually gave me a bit of a row, can't blame him really, I've actually been so thick, John, I really have been."

"It can't be that bad," John commented, giving him a reassuring squeeze of a shoulder. "What happened? I'm just surprised that its Mycroft that you fancy."

Greg sat up and glared at John. "What is so surprising about it? Because he is a bloke?" He asked slowly. "I don't care if you think that he is uncool or weird, I think that he is brilliant and nothing is going to change my mind."

"Nah, it's not that," John said with a smirk. "Usually you go for blondes when you are in the pub, never thought that you had a thing for redheads." 

Greg found himself chuckling along with John despite his mood, and how it almost felt like the planets had fallen out of orbit ever since Mycroft had stormed out of student accommodation. He wasn't too sure if it was guilt, but he missed Mycroft terribly. He kept that thought to himself though, it would be far too embarrassing to admit that to anyone. 

"Apparently he caught me looking at his arse in the reflection of the dishwasher," Greg said, and it resulted in another chuckle from John.  "We've been dancing around another for weeks and we do things like hold hands, and he's been for Sunday lunch with me.  I don't know when I really started liking him...It crept up on me, really. You think that he is part robot and he is shy, but he isn't really. He started to become so confident when he auditioned for Macbeth, you should see him on the stage, he's amazing. He chats to my mum on the phone and he even got her theatre tickets for her birthday, he's even taking her for show and tour of the theatre. Mum just loves him."

John nodded thoughtfully, a surprised look had painted across his features. He assumed that it would be a common occurrence, people having shocked looks creep upon their faces once they found out that Mycroft Holmes wasn't a robot and was in fact, human.   
  


"We almost kissed last night," Greg said suddenly. "He was just so worn down from having to deal with Sherlock. He's been dealing with a lot recently, I don't know what it is exactly. I was just wanting to cheer him up, but it felt like taking advantage."  He let out a bitter laugh at his stupidity. "We ended up in bed last night, we didn't shag before you ask. We fell asleep watching telly last night and I woke up cuddling and I had to spoil it.  I told a fib, that I had a date with a bloke, just to see how he would react...I didn't think that he would like me."

"Sounds like he does like you if you apparently hold hands and ended up in bed together," John folded his arms across his chest. "Didn't your mum tell you that fibbing was wrong to do? Does he know that you fibbed?"

Greg drained the rest of his beer, placing the empty bottle onto the table with more force than needed. "He understandably got so pissed off, apparently he made it obvious that he liked me. He told me that we couldn't just be friends anymore. It's just driving me mad dancing around him all the time."

"Can't you just ask him out?" John asked. "That's what normal people do when they fancy someone? You just say ' _Mycroft, fancy going for a drink with me?'_ It's not that complicated. Doubt that it would be that complicated."  

"Easier said than done, mate," Greg replied with an exhausted laugh. "I doubt that he is going to talk to me again."

* * *

_4th of November_

For the first time since he was thirteen, Mycroft had little desire to open up his textbooks or even think about university. Thinking about university meant that he was thinking about Greg, and thinking about Greg made his brain go into overdrive and it made him relive his stupidity and how he acted with Greg. 

He wasn't sulking, it was just staying in his room all day and avoiding people. He had successfully avoided having a chat with Uncle Rudy about what happened, only mentioning that he was considering applying for St. Andrews University or a suitable institution in France, claiming that he was wanting to improve his French. 

He hadn't been too weighed down with anxiety for several days, Sherlock had been rather subdued and Rudy had cut down his studying, locking away his computer and his books after eight hours. He had finished off his more recent assignment at home, it wasn't perfect and he would only get 75 per cent at the most. He always had the tendency to re-write each sentence several times until it was perfect, it was the part of the assignment that took the longest for him. Each sentence and word had to be perfect, he considered a piece of work that received less than 80 per cent to be a failure despite the positive feedback from his lecturers.  Mummy would consider anything less than 95 per cent to be a failure, she had always considered him to be rather thick and slow compared to her. 

If he did poorly on the essay, he would blame Paul for it, he only allowed him to rewrite his essay once before it had to be submitted when he was caught typing away frantically at two in the morning and he was forced to go to bed. He made Paul grade his assignment for him at five in the morning, he had been unable to sleep knowing that his essay wouldn't be perfect and up to his standards. Paul had told him that it was worthy of an 'A,' but did not tell him the percentage. Mycroft had the feeling that Paul had been feeling generous and was only trying to get him to bed, it was four in the morning after all. 

Despite the wet blanket of depression that threatened to settle on his shoulders, Mycroft forced himself out of bed and to function as a human being. Even though Sherlock had claimed Rupert and moved the dog bed into his bedroom, Rupert remained loyal to him, laying across his lap when he read or browsed on his phone until it was time to go for a walk or he wanted to play in the garden, and then he would sneak under the covers in the evening. When they first got Rupert, Rudy tried to place a rule about not allowing the dog on the furniture, it was short-lived and lasted about an hour. Mycroft tried to uphold the rule himself, but even though Rupert's bed was in his room, Rupert always climbed onto the bed, and Mycroft didn't feel cruel enough to make him leave. 

 

"You are helping Paul with the garden, you've been spending too much time in your room," Rudy commented, placing poached eggs and toast in front of Mycroft, the moment that Mycroft had graced the table with his presence.  "That book better be fiction, you are not reading anything that is to do with studying."

Mycroft looked up from his book and showed Rudy the cover of  _The Adventures of Roderick Random_ in between a bite of toast. "I'm behaving myself,  Rudy,"  Mycroft said with a roll of his eyes. He didn't fancy working in the garden in the slightest, he only ever went into the garden to play with Rupert or to smoke in secret behind the garden shed.

"Is there anything that you would rather do? I just don't want you acting like Miss Haversham in your room, just because you had a fight with your friend," Rudy commented before attending to his own book, completely ignoring his own breakfast. "I just don't want you studying, Paul wasn't thrilled about finding you writing essays at the crack of dawn."

Mycroft looked up with his book with a sigh, "I'm doing fine, not perfect, but I'm managing with the anxiety. I just got myself worked up into a proper state, I'm seeing Dr Miller tomorrow. I was probably just really tired and I've been worried about Sherlock."  He hoped that he sounded convincing enough, it wasn't as if he was lying to Rudy about how things had been, he could never lie to him, but he had avoided certain topics. 

Rudy nodded, glancing up at him when he turned the page of his book. "How has everything been, really?" Rudy asked suddenly. "We knew that you might have a bit of a difficult time, we were expecting you to want to come home, there is nothing wrong with it. We are just worried that you are going through a rough patch again, you had a really bad one earlier this year and you didn't say anything until it got awful."

Mycroft put down his book and shot his uncle an icy glare. "You were expecting me to fail weren't you?" He said briskly. "I've been doing fine, acting as normal as you want me to be. I've got two friends, I've joined several societies, I don't spend all day in bed. I've even been on a date, that's what normal students do."

"Coping  with university isn't a test and neither is checking up on your mental health, Mycroft," Rudy said with a sigh, closing his book with a loud thump. "Paul and I, we are proud of you and how well you are doing. You know that we've never cared about you being "normal," the same for your brother.  No one in this house is what is considered to be normal. We've always encouraged your interests and let you be yourself. I've even just bought your brother a fridge for his experiments."

Mycroft gave Rudy a tight smile, throwing his now cold toast to Rupert. "Paul is the strange one, that's what you used to say when I was younger. I used to phone from school upset that people made fun of me because they considered me to be strange, as I couldn't relate to them or I said wrong things, and you would say that Paul was strange because he willingly did gardening."

"Why am I strange?" Paul asked, walking into the kitchen clothed in his pyjamas and a book under his arm.  He pressed a kiss to Rudy's forehead as he made his way to the kettle, ruffling Mycroft's hair on his way to the fridge. "Hopefully, you got some sleep, 'Croft, you are twenty now, you don't need me to send you to bed."

"You did decide to mark my essay in the early hours of the morning and you are reading a Dan Brown thriller," Mycroft replied, not taking his eyes from his book. "I do apologise for waking you, especially when you are up to your eyes in marking essays."

"Mycroft is going to help you with the gardening to make up for waking you, aren't you?" Rudy said, nudging Mycroft's leg under the table. 

"Of course," Mycroft tried to force a smile on his face, but it felt incredibly forced. 

"You make it sound as if you are going to the gallows, 'Croft," Paul replied with a chuckle as he passed mugs of tea around the table. " Knowing you, you will stand by the shed and watch me do the work.  I'm sure that you can tell me why you think that I am strange among other enlightening conversation topics."

Mycroft checked his phone with a sigh, Greg had texted once more. Greg had texted him several times throughout the last few days, he had been worried about him and he had apologised a few times. Even though it was painful and he still felt humiliated about what happened in student accommodation, he did reply. Even though he had set a much-needed boundary between himself and Greg, claiming that he needed a few days and how he couldn't just be Greg's friend anymore, Mycroft missed him terribly. He had been upset, even angry but it had soon faded into embarrassment and loneliness. It was cruel to completely ignore Greg even if a part of him considered changing universities to avoid him and to aid in getting over his feelings.

(9.04 am)  **Just wanting to see if you are alright? I'm just about to head to your parent's house with Sherlock and John. Do you want me to pick up anything for you?**

(9.10 am)  _Doubt that I have anything important in that house. I was more of an unwelcome guest than a family member._

(9.12 am)  _I would recommend going through the staff entrance on the estate to get into the house._

(9.15 am)  **Cool, thanks.**

(9.17 am)  **I was wondering if we could talk? It could possibly wait though? Or I could speak to you when I'm dropping boxes at your house?**

Mycroft excused himself from the table, Rupert following trailing behind him like a shadow to his bedroom. Mycroft sat on his bed and fiddled with his phone for several moments, trying to prepare himself to speak on the phone. He took in several calming breaths in the attempt to calm his nerves and he ran his fingers through Rupert's coat. It always had a calming effect on him, it was part of the reason that Rudy and Paul had wanted to get a rescue dog, they always had the tendency to pick up strays and they believed that he needed a companion. Rupert had been that for him, it was easier to look after something else when he felt down and Rupert somehow had the ability to cheer him up and get him out of his room. 

He took in one final breath and dialled Greg's number. The phone rang once before Greg answered, he sounded thrilled that he had actually phoned. 

"Good morning," Mycroft said, trying to sound professional in the attempt to curb his nervousness. "You were wanting to talk."

He could hear Greg shuffle in the background and his nervous laugh. "I was just wanting to say that I've been a right and utter idiot, and a prick."

"You know that I don't like it when you call yourself an idiot," said Mycroft, "But I do have to admit that you have been a 'prick,' as you say it."

  
"Is that the first time that you've called someone that?" Greg asked the smile was obvious in his voice. "I was just wanting to say that I've been a right idiot and I shouldn't have fibbed. I was trying to see if you liked me and I didn't know how to ask you...I'm pretty new to this. I'm just so sorry and I hate that I made you feel that you were my second choice or that I was using you until something better came around...You are my first choice."

Mycroft hesitated on the phone, biting his lip, he had never been in a situation like this, he was always undesirable to anyone. He tried to ignore his mother's words about how he could never be loved properly and forced himself to focus on Greg's voice.   He ruffled Rupert's ears in the attempt to summon up some courage to continue speaking. "Are you new to liking men?" He asked.

There was a crackle on phone, the noise of the scratch, Greg's shaking his head even though no one could see him. "I've liked men but I've never done anything about it. My brother thought that I was trying to copy him when I tried to tell him how I fancied a boy on the football team and that I was being overdramatic as I didn't have a girlfriend. I do wish that he was still around, he could have given me advice on how to ask you out. I didn't know if there were any particular rules for blokes, I only know how to ask out girls."

"You could have just asked me. I would have said yes," Mycroft replied, fighting to keep his voice level. "I was tempted to ask you, but I assumed that you wouldn't be interested."

Greg let out a nervous chuckle, "I thought that you wouldn't want to go out with someone with a council estate, you would want a posh boy and someone really bright. I know that this isn't a conversation to be had over the phone, but John made me phone and ask you out.  I'm fed up of dancing around you, I'm sure that you feel the same."

The breath from Mycroft's lungs felt as it had been knocked out of him and he tried to hide his smile behind a hand. It felt wrong that he was strangely optimistic about Greg wanting to ask him on a date, it was bound to go horribly wrong. He would say the wrong thing or he would have boring dinner table conversation, and he barely understood dating rules himself. He had been on a date with Colin from the fencing society and the two of them hadn't clicked, but he did have to reluctantly admit that Coilin was a good kisser, and the two of them had been able to act as nothing happened. 

He had been worried that he and Greg wouldn't have the click or that the timing was off, those were a common theme in several of those silly films that Anthea forced him to watch with her instead of doing some work in the office.  They were predictable and stupid, but he tolerated and prefered the films with Jude Law in them, he would never confess to it though.  He doubted that things could be that simple and go back to normal if he and Greg were just better off as friends. There were far too many uncertainties for Mycroft's liking. 

Regardless of his worries, Mycroft found himself nodding. "Yes, that would be nice," Mycroft said quickly, his cheeks burning once he realised that Greg couldn't see him nod. 

"Alright," Greg replied, beaming, Mycroft could hear the grin on the other side of the phone. "It's a date. I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Of course," Mycroft said, his smile seemed impossible to hide. He was reluctant to hang up the phone and he had the feeling that Greg felt the same. 

The moment that the phone call was over, Mycroft went to his wardrobe and took out his best jumper and matching tie. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologise for the delay between chapters, it has been such a hectic and uncertain time for everyone and I felt the need for some fluff and much-needed kindness for Mycroft. I hope that everyone is staying safe and this has provided some comfort and happiness even for a few moments. 
> 
> I have been somewhat nervous about writing this chapter, mostly for the inclusion of Uncle Rudy and Paul. I've always had the urge to write Mycroft as having a rather normal and domestic life with Uncle Rudy, especially as I have given him so much unhappiness, it's purely self-indulgent. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and for kudos and comments. I'm not sure what Mycroft and Greg's first date is going to be like, feel free to suggest!


	14. Spock and The Large House.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Over the last few weeks, Greg had imagined at least one hundred ways for how he would ask out Mycroft on a date. He played out just asking him on a date over the breakfast table, or he would ask him out with a bunch of flowers, he had even considered a scenario which involved him jumping out of a very large cake at one point. Regardless of the grand gestures which Greg had conjured up, Mycroft had always refused and then a near major disaster happened, from Mycroft suddenly admitting that he had a very attractive and posh boyfriend or that an asteroid had crashed into the kitchen.   
> 
> He still couldn't believe that Mycroft had actually agreed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my titles are awful- I do apologise for this! One day, I might even come up with a decent chapter title!

It seemed impossible to keep the smile off his face once he had hung up the phone. There was a feeling of elation which ran through Greg, he hadn't experienced anything in such a long time, the years before he had become jaded due to the cruelty of the world. He never thought that Mycroft would actually agree to go on a date with him, especially how breakfast went the other day.

Over the last few weeks, Greg had imagined at least one hundred ways for how he would ask out Mycroft on a date. He played out just asking him on a date over the breakfast table, or he would ask him out with a bunch of flowers, he had even considered a scenario which involved him jumping out of a very large cake at one point. Regardless of the grand gestures which Greg had conjured up, Mycroft had always refused and then a near major disaster happened, from Mycroft suddenly admitting that he had a very attractive and posh boyfriend or that an asteroid had crashed into the kitchen.   

He still couldn't believe that Mycroft had actually agreed. It was his biggest victory of the year, and it felt like the biggest victory that the country ever experienced since the World Cup in 1966. He would have pumped his fist in the air in celebration had Sherlock and John not been in the car with him, and if Sherlock was not glaring at him intently from the passenger seat, almost as if he was trying to make his head explode. 

"Take it that it went well, Greg?" John asked from the back seat, nodding towards his phone. "Told you that just asking would be the best thing to do."

"I should have just done it in the first place, still surprised that he actually agreed," Greg grinned."Everything alright, Sherlock?" He asked as he started to make his way out of the car park. 

Sherlock had a disgusted look on his face, a grimace was plastered on his face the moment that he slipped into the car when John was giving him advice on how to ask Mycroft out. "I'm still trying to wonder what is wrong with you. I was only wanting you to drive me to the house and to pick up my things. I thought that your working-class background would make you capable of doing such a menial task. I wasn't wanting to be in a car while you ask my brother on a date before you started driving." 

Greg blinked and tried to fight the urge to pull over and to push Sherlock out of the car and drive away. "Sherlock, open up the glove box, I think that I must have left my chauffer's hat in there," Greg fired off with a smirk."I didn't know that this was a taxi service, I would have started the meter when you got into the car. That's probably at least five pounds you owe me now, going with London prices."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "He's not funny, John, don't encourage him, " he muttered in response to John's giggle. 

"He is the one driving you. I doubt that you even considered paying him petrol money," John replied, passing Sherlock a biscuit, almost as if he was consoling an upset toddler. "He might charge you extra for being rude."

Greg glanced over at Sherlock and clapped him on a shoulder in the attempt to get rid of the antsy and nervous air that the younger boy had around him. "You know what, Sherlock? I won't charge you this time," he tried to joke. "If you are worried about your brother, you can set a curfew and I'll have him home for it."

"Why do you always insist that I care for my brother?" Sherlock sighed, taking a bite of biscuit. "He is the most unbearable person to be around, and I've suffered over the last few days. He's even tried to be friendly with me and asked if I wanted to walk the dog with him, this is because you upset him and he was lonely as he didn't have you lurking around him like a stray. "

"Oh no, your brother wants to get along with you, how terrible," Greg replied dryly as he stopped by the traffic lights. 

"It is terrible," Sherlock commented, completely missing his sarcasm. "He is going to be even more irritating if he is actually happy."

Greg tried to hide his smile with a cough, it was a nice thought, that he would be able to make Mycroft happy and Sherlock even considering the possibility of it. It was a long drive to the middle of nowhere, and he wasn't wanting to annoy Sherlock this early in the drive, it was almost cruel to do so as it was clear that he wasn't his best, probably due to going home and potentially seeing his parents. Greg wasn't looking forward to that prospect himself just from the stories that Mycroft had told him.

He fiddled with the car stereo while he wanted for traffic lights to change, pressing a button which started playing the CD that he made for the journey, a lecture about Jack the Ripper among with other lectures about famous murders in history.   
  
It seemed to have worked, as Sherlock was listening intensely to the lecture, not a word left of his mouth unless he was criticising the criminologist or historian who was talking. He knew that Sherlock was thankful for the distraction even though he was very unlikely to say anything, especially not to him. He wasn't too sure if Sherlock even liked him, it didn't matter, it wasn't going to stop Greg looking out for him, nothing was going to keep him doing it. 

* * *

It was obvious from the moment that first lay his eyes on Mycroft that he was at least several miles up the class ladder compared to him. The fact that the Holmes family were most definitely posh had become more obvious when there was the casual mention of the family having staff and months-long holidays in Europe, and that Sherlock based his knowledge on the working class from Charles Dickens novels and from soap operas. Mycroft had been similar to his brother in that aspect, and he seemed to have little knowledge on how to look after himself when he started university and had little knowledge on how to use a microwave or a washing machine, Sherlock's domestic ability was non-existent and he had the tendency to treat people as his staff, Greg especially. 

As the car approached the gates of the large country estate, Greg felt his jaw drop when he saw the large house that was at the end of a mile-long drive. It was an old manor that looked like it belonged in one of those Victorian or Georgian period dramas that his mum and his Gran liked to watch. It was surrounded by a vast woodland, and Greg had to narrowly avoid a pheasant that scurried across the road. The house was isolated, a good mile or two from a small cobbled village that looked trapped in time. Sherlock directed him to the gates of the staff entrance, allowing Greg to catch a glimpse of a graveyard in the middle of a very large garden.  

"This is your house?" John asked, an expression of shock and surprise on his face. "Does the Queen  stay here on her holidays when Balmoral is getting clean?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he slipped out of the car, immediately wrapped his large coat around himself like a comfort blanket. "I don't know why you are acting so impressed, the summer house is even bigger." Sensing an air of nervous energy that radiated around Sherlock, Greg wordlessly passed him his lighter and a cigarette which Sherlock took without a second glance, muttering a quiet thank you. His hands almost appeared to be shaking and the smug confidence that he usually surrounded around himself was gone. Sherlock took long puffs of the cigarette and scuffed it out on the old stone steps, trying to appear cool and collected. 

Not wanting to bother him, Greg helped John take out cardboard boxes and bin bags from the boot of the car.  "He has a second house?" John whispered in surprise. "You wouldn't need anything more with a house like this, there's probably at least ten bedrooms in this. It's like bloody Upstairs Downstairs!"

Greg snorted in response as he picked up a pile of boxes. "I'm not sure if it is just me, but I suddenly feel poorer. I feel like a bloody footman or a medieval peasant."

John let out a chuckle as he closed the boot with a slam. "Do you suddenly feel the urge to steal an ashtray? Reckon that if I sold one on eBay, it would pay for my tuition and my student loan." 

"The armorial china would go for a better price, there's also bottles of wine and whisky in the cellar that are more valuable," Sherlock commented with a shrug.  He pushed open a large wooden door that lead to a large room only furnished with an old wooden table, and if Greg could remember correctly from his school trip to Audley House, it was called a still room.   "There's no staff in at the moment apart from the gardener and my parents are out, and I can take what I want, it is my house after all. If you are going to steal, I recommend taking things from the spare sitting room and the guest bedrooms, my parents are hardly going to notice. I can point out valuables for you to take and we can split the money."

The house was cold and empty, and it almost felt haunted by ghosts of the ancestors of the Holmes family which gave Greg an odd feeling, almost as if he was being watched and almost as if he was judged for his lack of money.  Sherlock discarded his coat on the still room table before he pulled out a box of cigarettes which were hiding on the top of the door frame with a pleased shout. "I had been telling my parents that the maids were doing a poor job of cleaning. If I'm lucky, all my boxes of cigarettes and experiments are still here."

Greg and John were lead through a maze of never-ending grey corridors and high staircases. It had felt that he had walked for miles, his feet and his arms ached horribly from carrying the boxes. Once they had climbed up the last staircase, Sherlock pressed against a certain spot on the wall which opened an entrance into a sitting room. As Greg walked into the room, he happened to get a glimpse of the floor and saw his scuffed up trainers were on an expensive-looking oriental rug compared to worn grey floors that he stepped on before, the separation between upstairs and downstairs could not be more obvious. John swore in amazement when he realised that they had walked through a bookcase.  It was a hidden door of some sort, it would allow the servants back in the day to be able to walk invisible around a large house, to be nonexistent even though they maintained the life of grandeur and leisure of the upper classes on their backs.

Greg felt uncomfortable in the room and felt afraid to move in fear of breaking something. It almost felt like he was in a museum despite the lack of velvet ropes and signs that told people not to touch the exhibits. The room was large with a fireplace in the centre, decorated with several pieces of antique wooden furniture. The walls adorned with paintings in gold frames, paintings of the countryside and several had images of farmworkers working in the fields with scythes and pitchforks, looking far too cheerful despite the back-breaking work  There were portraits of who Greg believed to be of the Holmes family and thier relations throughout the decades, looking as if they had never worked a day in thier life, smug, and somewhat dignified despite the questionable wigs on the sitter's head. The family resemblance was strong and it was evident that Mycroft had inherited a family nose when Greg spotted it in an eighteenth-century portrait. 

Sherlock did not spend much time in the room, disregarding it as unimportant, and quickly guided them along the corridors to other rooms in the house. Greg almost felt sick when Sherlock listed off the price of pieces of furniture, portraits, and antiques with great ease and told John what would be worthy of stealing. Items which Sherlock considered to be inexpensive were under five thousand pounds, and the high-value items were more than three years of his wages from three jobs. Greg almost felt envious, it seemed impossible to even consider having that much money and to waste it on ceramics and paintings. It was a world that he and so many people couldn't even step a foot through the door and people were starving and homeless, it was almost disgusting this show of wealth.  Sherlock seemed to have little regard for it, acting like money wasn't even a consideration when he mentioned how many cars the family had and Greg was sure that he heard the mention of a private jet as well and a boat, and a mention of a house in London. 

Greg trailed behind Sherlock and John, John seemed to take being in such a large house with greater ease than himself. The hallways were decorated in a similar manner to the other rooms of the house with family portraits and of landscapes, there were expensive oriental vases and even a few marble statues among other decorations. There was a lack of personalisation and it barely looked like anyone lived in the house, more like an oversized dollhouse for the family just to admire. The only indication that people lived in the house were a few photographs of Sherlock standing with his stern-looking parents in front of a large house or fireplace, professionally done photos,  everyone unsmiling. Mycroft was nowhere to be seen in any of the photographs that Greg had come across in the various room, almost as if he didn't exist to the family, an unwanted child. 

The only indication that Mycroft had actually lived in the house was when Sherlock pointed out a bedroom at the bottom of a corridor and gave him the instruction to take anything that Mycroft might want, while he and John were doing to collect his experiments from a spare bedroom. Sherlock and John had wandered away before Greg could even protest about having anything dead or any organs that Sherlock was experimenting on in his car.  Greg let out a loud sigh and tried to ignore the feeling that he was being watched, convinced that the portraits were watching and judging him, as he went into the bedroom. 

Even though Mycroft had not been in his childhood bedroom for over a year, it was the only part of the house that looked as if someone had lived there at one point.  On the rare occasion that Greg had been in Mycroft's bedroom in student accommodation, he always considered it to be rather plain with the lack of decoration, apart from the piles of books that Mycroft had everywhere due to the lack of shelves, his fencing gear that stood by the tidy wardrobe, and an R2D2 pencil holder on his desk, the rest of the room was void of any personalisation. The room felt like it belonged in a very expensive hotel even though it was meant to be a room for a child. There wasn't any toys or anything to indicate that Mycroft as a child stayed there, there was a large antique desk and bookshelves that took up the majority of the room. Greg did wonder how often Mycroft was squirrelled away in his room with only his books and his school work to keep him company. 

He wondered how often Mycroft was left alone in such a large house as a child with just a nanny to keep him company while his parents were abroad with Sherlock until he started to live with his uncle. He had heard Sherlock mention to John, far too casually for Greg's liking, that he stayed in the house by himself with just a housekeeper who came in twice a week. It was a thought that sickened him, especially when he was barely alone in the council flat when he was younger, his mum and brother were usually around and his gran lived ten minutes away.

Greg placed a box on the desk, and he started to place books into it, it was probably the only items from the bedroom that Mycroft would appreciate. The books were arranged alphabetically with some volumes missing, he had the feeling that Mycroft picked up his favourites when he left the family home. Greg was not sure what books that Mycroft liked or what he had copies of at home, he took a good bit of time examining the spines of the books and carefully selected books that Mycroft would appreciate and took a mixture of books that were in English and in French. He made sure to take Shakesphere and history books as well. 

There was a photo album that was stashed behind the Dickens novels that Greg noticed when he took _Dombey and Son_ from the shelf. It was hidden away like a deep and shameful secret, he never thought that Mycroft to be sentimental over photographs.  

Greg perched himself on the bed and flicked through the album. The first photograph was of the Holmes family standing in front of a fireplace, everyone dressed in formal attire with an emotionless expression on their faces. Mycroft included in this family portrait, he was a plump child with his hair a bright shade of red, with his father's hand on his shoulder. The only thing that Greg really noticed was how unhappy he looked. As he flicked through the first few pages of the album, Mycroft never smiled, he wasn't sure if Mycroft was a shy child who didn't like getting his photo taken or he was unhappy as a child.  

Greg felt himself smile when he saw Mycroft and Sherlock photographed together, the two of them dressed in fencing gear and posing with foils, the two of them playing on the beach with Sherlock dressed up as a pirate. There was a hint of a smile on Mycroft's face. Mycroft was smiling in the photographs in the back of the album. He looked so much happier. He was ganglier in those pictures, his hair a ruffled mess with untamed curls, his mouth full of braces, and he had his glasses. They were holiday photos and Greg assumed that it was with his uncles that Mycroft was posing with, judging by the fact that one of them had the same nose as Mycroft.

Greg placed the album into the box for Mycroft before he started to search for anything else that Mycroft might want. He took a few notebooks from the desk and pieces of stationery- it would come in handy especially when exams were approaching,  Mycroft would find a use for it. As he was going through the wardrobe, a Mr Spock figurine was hidden in a shoebox, almost as if it was a forbidden item and it was the only childish thing that was in the room. Greg didn't think twice and put the figurine in the box.

* * *

Despite Greg's refusal to have any of Sherlock's experiments in his car, there was a jar of maggots, a box with various poisonous plants, and a cow's skull in the boot. He had argued with Sherlock for ten minutes about what experiments that were going in the car, John had to intervene and thankfully, Sherlock had decided to take the more tame experiments in the car after John threatened to throw away the box of eyeballs that he had smuggled from the university lab. 

Sherlock seemed to be in better spirits than he was before. The three of them started giggling like schoolboys when Sherlock pulled an ashtray from his coat pocket, waving it around as if it was a trophy. It was the first time that he saw Sherlock laugh without having an insult thrown at him before Sherlock would chuckle to himself. 

Sherlock gave him directions to his uncle's house which was walking distance from Putney Heath. Greg tried to ignore the bundle of nerves which settled into the pit of his stomach, a sudden apprehension about seeing Mycroft and with the realisation that they were going on date soon. He felt rather odd about seeing Mycroft in his home, almost as if he was intruding into Mycroft's personal life. He never had this feeling when he was his parent's house, he felt like an intruder, mostly as he felt like a medieval peasant standing in such a grand but unwelcoming house. 

Greg was surprised about how normal the house was, it probably cost a small fortune each month. He imagined that Mycroft's uncles lived in a posh house, one of those fancy London townhouses instead of a semi-detached with gnomes decorating the garden. The fact that it was so ordinary threw Greg off massively. 

Sherlock walked into the house without knocking or even comment, leaving him and John to deal with the boxes and the bin bags in the boot apart from the experiments that he had taken from the car boot. A red Staffordshire Bull terrier went charging out of the front door, barking but with his tail wagging rapidly, before getting distracted by his tail. 

Mycroft came out of the front door, his trousers and his hands covered dirt, his hair ruffled from the wind. It was probably the most dressed down that he had seen Mycroft, the closest that Mycroft ever wore to casual other than his gym gear, Greg appreciated the sight greatly. He was followed by a thin man with round glasses and wearing a baseball cap and gardening gloves, who was chattering to Mycroft about beetroot. 

"Rupert, you are such a terrible excuse for a guard dog," Mycroft sighed, shaking his head at the dog, who had decided to stop chasing his tail and started to jump up on Mycroft, nuzzling his hands. 

Greg caught a small smile on Mycroft's face as he tended to the dog for a few moments. Greg had decided that watching Mycroft interact with a dog was now his favourite sight in the world, it was honestly the most adorable thing. He wouldn't have expected Mycroft to like dogs, always expecting him to be more a cat person, but he was happy to be wrong. 

Mycroft looked up and immediately looked embarrassed and tried to brush the dirt away from his trousers. His cheeks were pink but Greg was not sure if it was because he had been outside. "Hello Greg, thank you so much for doing this." Mycroft gave him a shy looking smile.

"It's not a problem," Greg replied, finding it rather difficult to make a coherent sentence all of a sudden, seeing Mycroft with a dog had melted his brain too much."You have a dog. I like dogs."

Mycroft nodded, suddenly a lot shyer than normal, probably due to having John and his family around. "I like dogs as well." He looked rather sheepish and excused himself with the excuse of needing to make tea.

"I take it that Sherlock has left you to do the heavy lifting?" The man said in a thick Scottish accent and removed his gardening gloves, offering his hand to Greg and John, introducing himself as Paul. "Is there much in that car? I'll go and give you a hand while 'Croft gets tea made."As he went back into the house, he shouted at Sherlock to not put his experiments the kitchen fridge but put them in the fridge in his room. 

Greg shot a confused look towards John, who only let out a shrug. He opened up his mouth to ask Paul, but then soon closed it, perhaps it was best not to ask. 

Greg took the boxes of Mycroft's things into the house first, making sure to hide the Mr Spock figurine under his jacket to save Mycroft from any embarrassment. Mycroft was in the kitchen, making tea and looking somewhat tidier than before and had managed to get changed and flatten out his hair within the space of two minutes. 

"I've managed to pick up a few things for you," Greg said, placing the two boxes that he was carrying on the kitchen floor. Rupert immediately went over to them, stuck his head in the box and started to look for treats.  "Where can I put these?" Greg stuck his hand out and allowed Rupert to sniff it, Rupert seemed to take a liking to him, his tail rotating like a propeller and allowed him to stroke his head. He had always liked dogs, he never had one due to living in a council flat and Jamie was allergic. 

"You didn't have to do this," Mycroft replied, fiddling with the mugs in the attempt to avoid looking at him. "I can take these to my room when you have a coffee. I hope that my brother was not too much hassle and didn't say anything too rude."

Greg shoved the lighter box into Mycroft's direction with his foot, like the gentleman he was, he picked up the box with the majority of the books. "He is very convinced that my working-class roots mean that I'm his personal event," Greg said with a shake of his head. "He was the one who suggested that I get some of your things for you. He was even encouraging us to steal the bottles of wine and the antiques. He did want a cut of the money, though. I didn't steal anything though, Sherlock did pinch an ashtray. I always thought that you were posh but when I saw that house...Myc, you are mega posh."

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably at the mention of money, he picked up the box and lead Greg to his bedroom. Greg knew that money and Mycroft being posh was an awkward topic to discuss. While they had never talked about it before, Greg knew that he was a peasant compared to Mycroft, especially with how many hours he worked and he felt so self-conscious when he took Mycroft to his mum's council flat and drove Mycroft in his car which was nearly as old as he was. Greg never usually had a problem with money, but seeing that massive house and the extravagant show of wealth disgusted him especially when kids were going hungry. 

"What did you think of the house?" Mycroft asked neutrally, once they were up in the bedroom. "I take it that Sherlock mentioned the jet as well, he does like to brag about that."

Greg placed the box onto the floor and tried to rub out the ache from his arms. "It...I've never been to a house with that many rooms, it was like I walked into an English Heritage site."He sighed and sat down on Mycroft's desk chair, smiling a little to himself when he saw a Darth Vader mug on the desk."My family were pretty much skint...Mum had to go to a food bank a few times when it was really difficult. She cried so much about it, so Jamie and I, we got paper rounds and working odd jobs to bring in extra money, my dad wasn't around often and tended to drink and gamble everything."

Mycroft nodded and perched on the bed, he almost looked rather sheepish. He didn't speak for a few moments, seeming to be in deep thought.  "I hope that you don't think less of me after seeing the house...I know that money can make people uncomfortable," Mycroft said awkwardly, almost embarrassed. 

Greg leaned forward on the chair, placing his hand on Mycroft's knee. "Why would I think less of you?"

"Because most people who my parents associate with large amounts of money are either inbred pricks or they are new money and think that they are better than everyone and are just so painfully obnoxious, "Mycroft shrugged."I refuse to be associated with people like that. It's almost a blessing that I've been disinherited."

Greg burst out laughing at Mycroft's choice of words, the smile that he received in exchange was wonderful, worth more than anything he had seen in that house. "I always thought that it was just a pantomime, what my parents and so many others do. Show off their wealth and pretend that they live in the nineteenth century and base their lives on impressing members of the country club."

"I've always been a bit self-conscious about my lack of money," Greg eventually said. "I know that it's daft, especially as I felt like such a peasant in the house and I was so worried that you would have a culture shock going into a council estate."

"I've always admired your work ethic...It is one of my favourite things about you," Mycroft stated with some difficulty as he grabbed his hand. "I was really impressed to find out that you took night classes to get into university, and that you work several jobs and somehow manage to get your coursework done, and you are one of the few students who actually make an effort in the Monday politics lecture, usually everyone is still half-asleep or hungover."

Mycroft shook his head and apologised."I'm really not good at things like that, I always come off as being a fool."

Greg moved so he was perched on the bed next to Mycroft, his fingers still entangled in Mycroft's. "That is probably the loveliest thing that someone has said to me in a long time."

Mycroft's ears went pink, and he smiled at the ground suddenly becoming shy. "There is a lot about you that I really like...So I was thinking that we can go to a museum on our date? You can really show off and maybe I can flaunt my A-level in history to you. I could even give you a lecture about the Industrial Revolution at a push."

Mycroft beamed, "I would love to hear that."

Mycroft turned his attention to the boxes on the floor. He seemed very pleased with the selection of books that Greg had chosen, happily discussing and praising Greg about his choice in books. He did frown when he saw the photo album but placed inside a box of photographs that were hidden in his wardrobe. 

"I had a glance through the pictures," Greg said, nodding at the box.

Mycroft sighed, "I was an unfortunate looking child, thankfully I discovered contact lenses and I lost weight."

"I was going to say that you looked really sad in those pictures," Greg replied causally. "But I've seen the more recent ones, holiday pictures, I think, and I caught a glimpse of some photos on my way up to your room. "You look so much happier here, and you look even happier now."

Mycroft nodded and removed the wrinkles out of his jumper. "I'm really happy now, I can't possibly describe it."

"I managed to find something else," Greg removed his jacket and pulled out the Mr Spock figurine, handing it to Mycroft. "I thought that you might want it."  
  


Mycroft did not say anything for several moments and placed his hand over his mouth. He looked rather emotional about seeing a plastic figurine. Greg wasn't sure if he had upset him, perhaps he should have left it in the house. 

"Myc, I shouldn't have brought it, I'm probably sticking my nose-" 

Mycroft shook his head and hugged him without a moment's notice. It was a surprise as Mycroft rarely initiated hugs but Greg did not hesitate to wrap his arms around him. "Thank you so much...I know that it's just a piece of plastic, but it was a birthday present from Paul when I was seven. It has a lot of sentimental value...it's stupid.  I know."

Greg shook his head and ran his fingers through Mycroft's hair. He pulled back from the hug and placed a hand on Mycroft's cheek. "It's not stupid at all,  it's worth being in a car with your brother for four hours, just to see you so happy."

Greg is not sure what happened, but he suddenly became so aware of how close Mycroft was to him and he can feel his breath on his face and how their foreheads are touching. Mycroft's is still clutching Mr Spock and the other his on the nape of his neck, his fingers teasing his hair. Greg's wasn't sure if he was having palpitations from the amount of coffee that he had throughout the day or if there was any other reason his heart threatened to erupt out of his chest.

 _Oh lord, he is going to kiss me,_ the words repeat in Greg's brain, alarm like. He sent a questioning look over to Mycroft, asking him if he wanted to do this. Greg did not want to push boundaries too far. If they kissed, he was sure that it would be the death of them just being friends.

Mycroft nodded. 

Greg nodded back and licked his lips before he brought face closer to Mycroft's.

The bedroom door opened with a loud thud. "Mycroft, I thought that you were making tea. With the time that you are taking, we could have died of dehydration," Sherlock announced, barging into the room without even a knock. Mycroft basically leapt away and pretended to check his phone, an attempt to look casual once Sherlock walked into the room, holding a freezer bag containing fishheads.

Greg shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to force the blush from his face, and tried to ignore the sudden urge for the ground to swallow him up. "Hey, Sherlock," his voice several octaves higher than usual."Is that an experiment that you've got there?"

Sherlock let out a noise that Greg did not think was human, it sounded like a cat hacking up a hairball. "You two are disgusting! That is the most revolting thing that I've seen. I feel like I need to be sick."Sherlock turned around in one swift motion and slammed the door closed."You better hurry up with the tea, Mycroft. I want biscuits as well!" Sherlock shouted through the door, his voice muffled.

Once the echo of Sherlock's footsteps had disappeared, he glanced at Mycroft, who currently looked like he wanted to suddenly disappear, his ears and his face an interesting shade of pink. Greg knew that his face was a similar colour. 

"I think that the next time that we try that, we are having a barricade on the door," Greg said, he covered his face with his hands."I haven't felt this level of embarrassment since I was fifteen and my mum walked into my room with a pile of washing when I had a girl in my room. Do you suddenly feel the urge to emigrate to France and change your name?"

"I was thinking about immediately leaving for Nepal, where I intend to live as a goat," Mycroft replied with a tone of great seriousness.

A chuckle seemed to have erupted out of Greg and Mycroft soon joined him in laughter. It always surprised how laughter in close proximity could feel so intimate. He never had experienced that feeling with anyone else before, it almost took him by surprise.

Mycroft did take him by surprise; he never expected that a stranger, one who labelled his teabags at the start of term would eventually become the person who Greg would do anything in the world just for the chance to make him happy, just to be the reason why he smiled even if it was just for a moment. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and all of the lovely comments, and the support for this story.  
> The Holmes Mannor is partly based off the house in S4's The Final Problem and of a local historical country house that I work for which is in Scotland, especially when it came to details such as the long maze-like corridors and the floors, and the pheasants, and a graveyard is on the estate. 
> 
> If anyone is interested, the house that Greg apparently visited when he was in school is called Audley End House which is in Saffron Walden, Essex. I've not been to the house myself, but there is a delightful set of videos that are done by English heritage which has the cook of Audley End House, Mrs Crocombe making Victorian recipes! I've linked the playlist if anyone is needing something wholesome to watch in this difficult time. https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=Audley+End+House+and+Gardens&sp=EiG4AQHCARtDaElKeVI4SnBTQ0kyRWNSSFVNWmlGdUIwTXc%253D 
> 
> My ramblings...  
> It has been interesting writing this chapter this week, mostly I feel that the world has turned upside down and the UK has been in lockdown for almost a week. It has been a difficult thing to process, more of the fact that life feels like has paused for an undefined amount of time and I am not sure what I am meant to feel anymore. I've been so reliant on updating this story and the fandom in general for comfort. I hope that this chapter has provided a little bit of joy, writing it has given me some joy especially with the scene with Greg and Mycroft in the bedroom together. 
> 
>  
> 
> Hope everyone stays safe!


	15. Impulsive is Brilliant.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'The question took Greg by surprise, he could only blink in response. It was so unexpected and it seemed to come out of nowhere. Mycroft was in the middle of his dagger scene and he stopped suddenly and with a sigh, he asked him the question. 
> 
> "Do think that I'm strange?" Mycroft repeated, leaning against the counter. "Be truthful, I won't be offended in what you say."
> 
> "Did someone say something to you?" Greg asked, throwing his script onto the table.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C.W. Period typical homophobia and use of homophobic language in this chapter.

_6th of November_

Even though he had become more familiar with the world of the pub and he actually enjoyed going with Greg or Anthea on occasion to a quiet location where he did not have to fight to be heard over the music, it was with his most recent visit that Mycroft had lost all fondness of the pub. His father had decided for some strange reason that they were to meet up in the pub for their occasional meeting. 

While he had not spoken to Mummy in over a year, Mycroft still had occasional contact with his father. The majority of the time the contact that he had with his father was limited, they would meet occasionally often in a cafe in areas of London where Mummy or her friends would not frequent and pretend to engage in small talk for around forty-five minutes before his father had to go back to the office. The routine of meeting up for tea and engaging in stunted small talk took place once every three months. It was the most contact that he would have with his father, apparently phoning was too much of an effort. There would be an envelope with £100 that would come into the post  from his father, occasionally with a piece of paper inside with a date and location for a meeting,  it was the most that they had outside their occasional meetings. 

Mycroft did wonder why his father had decided to go to a pub for a meeting, he did wonder if it was another one of his father's attempts to instil masculine tendencies into him an attempt to _'straighten him out_ ' as he was far too _'sensitive'_ according to his parents. Father had tried to make him enjoy football, rugby, and cricket countless times on the very rare occasion that the two of them were in the house together without Mummy or Sherlock. His father had nearly wept with joy when he had started fencing lessons and competing, it had finally given them something to talk about and it allowed to be the son that his father wanted.

He knew that his father would be wanting to discuss Sherlock at this meeting, especially as Sherlock had removed his things from the house and had possibly pinched a few valuables to sell. It wasn't a secret that Sherlock had decided to go and live with Uncle Rudy and Paul, Mycroft wouldn't have been surprised if his father hadn't even noticed that his youngest son was gone,   their father was painfully unobservant at times. While it had been difficult to get the details from Sherlock about what happened at home and what made him leave, judging from the hushed tones from Sherlock and Uncle Rudy through the kitchen door, it was a _Sunday lunch incident._ He had tried to speak to Sherlock about what happened,  as it was his duty as an older brother to provide some comfort and reassurance, Sherlock had slammed the door in his face and sent John Watson to send him away. He hadn't attempted to talk about what happened with Sherlock since. 

Uncle Rudy had offered to go with him to the pub, he always offered to go with him when his father wanted to meet up. It had been tempting to let Rudy tag along, but Mycroft was afraid of making a scene, as Rudy had a strong dislike for his father and always enjoyed making him uncomfortable. It was at his fifteenth birthday dinner, that Father had decided to make an appearance and to drop off a birthday card, he had said something rude to Paul and it had upset Rudy. Mycroft had deleted the majority of memory from his Mind Palace, but he could remember the horrific argument that Rudy and Father had and that Rudy had decided that it was a good time to try on the new dress that he had made for himself and he was acting rather flamboyant, it had bothered Father considerably and it lead to him storming out and a trifle ending up on the floor. Mycroft is still convinced that Uncle Rudy holds that moment with great pride and considered it to be one of his greatest achievements. 

He had arrived at the pub twenty minutes early, it was always best to be aware of one's surroundings and it allowed him to plan conversation topics for his father. Mycroft planned to steer the conversation to fencing, it was the only thing that he could talk about with his father other than talking about work. He was fairly confident that he could talk about fencing long enough that it would stop awkward chit-chat and his father would get bored, hopefully cutting the meeting short by twenty-five minutes. 

(11.43 am)  **I'm so excited for tonight, I've been doing my research on the Industrial Revolution for your lecture tonight ;)**

Mycroft tried his best not to smile at his phone, he hadn't felt that excited about anything for a long time. Greg had suggested that they visit the British Museum after their Macbeth rehearsals, the museum was going to be open until nine that evening and it would give them plenty of time to browse. 

Despite the excitement that he felt, Mycroft had found himself incredibly anxious about the date, he had little experience in that area, having only been on two dates in the past and he didn't enjoy them that much. He was on holiday in Nice on the Easter Holidays and he had met Alex in a cafe while Rudy and Paul went sightseeing. The two of them chatted easily for two hours before Alex had asked if he wanted to get a drink. He was by surprise especially as no one had been intrested in him before, well not in England. Mycroft always had the strong belief that he was considerably cooler in France that what he had ever been in England.  

The date was not horrible and things did go surprisingly well, he had even received a kiss on the cheek at the end of it. He never went out with Alex again, the timing was not on his side, Sherlock had ended up in hospital after a nasty overdose and went to rehab, and he had A-level exams to focus on. It was a surprise when Colin had asked him if he was wanting to get a drink after an evening fencing practice. He had assumed that it was a team outing at the pub and he had been taken by surprise to find out that he was the only one in the pub with Colin and that he had apparently agreed to go on a date. While he wasn't that intrested, he did consider that it would good practice and it would hopefully help him move on from an unrequited crush on Greg. The date was not awful and somewhat pleasant, even if he did drink too much wine and had to endure Colin droning on about water polo in his bedroom in the late hours of the evening. He did hope that his date with Greg would be so much more pleasant and it would go without a hitch, it would make his Christmas if it did. 

He had spent the last two day researching the objects that were in the museum in fear of not knowing what to say to Greg and that he would be too anxious to be good company. Mycroft was convinced that if he knew a lot about the displays of the museum then it would impress Greg massively. He had told Anthea of his plan, she had been thrilled that he was going on a date with Greg and she had spent time helping him pick what jumper best matched his eyes. She had initially told him that he was being rather strange that he was researching for his date but she did accompany him to the museum for his research when they left work early. She did come over to the house to pick an outfit and to continue the research online and he had assisted with the wording of her personal statement for university in exchange for her help. She had even stayed for dinner and Uncle Rudy seemed to take pleasure in teasing him about having a girl in his bedroom, Paul and Anthea found it hilarious and joined in much to his embarrassment. 

(11.45 am)  _I'm sure that it will enlighten me and if you give me a full bibliography, I will be completely impressed._

(11. 46 am)  **I'll try my best to impress you, I don't even know how I even managed to catch your interest in the first place.**

(11.52 am)  _If I am completely honest, you do tend to walk around with a shirt on. It's bound to catch anyone's interest. You have to be blind to not appreciate it._

(11.54 am)  **That's Mycroftian for saying that I'm fit, isn't it? ;)**

(11.55 am)  **I'll have to think of a clever way to say that you are good looking as well ;).**

Father arrived as Greg had sent his last text message, he was ten minutes late.  Mycroft forced the smile off his face and hoped that his ears hadn't turned bright pink, no one had ever told him that he was good looking before. He cleared his throat and stood up, and shook his father's hand when it was offered. They had always tried to maintain a professional relationship, Mummy had always criticised him for being a bit of a clingy child and she never liked him getting too attached to things. She had a habit of removing his toys and members of staff he liked when she felt that he was getting too attached to them, deciding that it was counterproductive to his learning. It was probably the reason why she had decided to take Sherlock with her and his father when they went abroad for work, she was always odd about him wanting to play with Sherlock when they were children, she seemed to enjoy raising him and his brother as rivals in intelligence and would make the two of them compete with another. 

"How are you?" Father asked with a nod of his head. 

He never gave him the time to answer and he had gone to the bar to order a drink.  Mycroft tried his best not to sigh and gave him back a polite smile when he walked back to the table with a single malt in his hand. "How has your work going? I've been keeping up with the newspapers and the American presidential election has been of interest."

Father gave him an expression of what almost looked like a smile, he never answered his question and instead paid more attention to the newspaper that he had brought to the table. Mycroft bit back a sigh and wondered why he even bothered with his father at times.  "How is Sherlock? Has he settled well with your uncle and Peter?" He asked after several long minutes of deafening silence. 

"Paul," Mycroft replied briskly, placing his arms on the table. "Sherlock has been doing well, he's managed to settle in quickly. He did pick his things the other day, it's more convenient that he stays in London than on the estate. It's easier for him to go to college and he has a friend now. He's currently looking at universities for next year."

Father looked up from his newspaper before he folded it and placed it on the table. "Mummy will be pleased to know, she has been asking for him," He said before he gave  Mycroft a tight smile. "She has been asking for you and it is awfully rude that you have not spoken to her in a long time."

Mycroft tried his best not to roll his eyes, he always got into trouble for doing so by his father. He wanted nothing more than to pick up his jacket and leave but he forced himself to smile. "I'm afraid that I'm awfully busy at the moment with university, I won't be able to visit," Mycroft said through his teeth. "I've got a fencing competition in December, I'm competing with the sabre," Mycroft said suddenly in the attempt to steer the conversation in another direction. 

The topic of fencing did not seem to distract his father who seemed rather intent about lecturing him about how cruel he was for ignoring Mummy's sudden desire to speak to her. His father talked at him for ten minutes about his cruel behaviour, almost acting like it was an offence worthy of hanging.  He tried his best to not look too thrilled when he realised that he only had to endure twenty-five minutes of this meeting before his father would want to leave.

"I do not understand why you cannot get over this silly grudge that you have against her, she is offering you a wonderful opportunity. You just need to make it up to her and move back home.  It would make her so happy if you just apologised and you've probably gotten out of that silly phase you are in by now, you can even bring around a lady friend, she would be so pleased. " Father said, sounding far too cheerful for Mycroft's liking. "  I did tell her that  it was a bad idea letting you stay with Rudy, he's put silly ideas into your head."

"You know far too well why Mummy and I do not speak," Mycroft said through gritted teeth, trying his best to quell his temper, it was a red button topic and it always felt as if someone had pressed the button that would start a nuclear attack but he managed to stay professional and collected.  There was no point in getting emotional when angry or upset, emotions were a weakness, Mummy had taught him that.   "If I can recall correctly, you did reprimand me for spoiling dinner and making a scene once pudding was finished."

Father sat up in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "You are making a scene, my boy," he said in a low hiss. "You were the one who decided that you had to tell people that you were...that way."

"You mean gay?" Mycroft asked in a tone that lacked all humour, it was ice cold despite how it felt as if lava was running through him.  "Mummy was trying to get me a girlfriend and the topic of gay conversion therapy was lunchtime conversation.  I'm not going to be silent when that is being discussed and you talk about Uncle Rudy in such a horrid manner.  I consider him and Paul to be my parents, they've done a better job than what you and Mummy have ever done. I'm afraid that I need to cut this visit short, I've got a lot of coursework to do." 

Mycroft stood up and grabbed his coat, deciding that it was best to leave before his temper got the best of him and before he brought too much attention to himself.  "Before you ask if I've got _any females_ or if ' _I'v_ _e managed to get out of my silly phase,'_ like what you do every time you see me," Mycroft said, intimidating his father's accent, "I'm still a homosexual. A poof, gay, whatever you want to call it. I'm not changing who I am to please Mummy and I will not be visiting her." He started to make his way from the table in great haste, feeling his eyes start to burn. He bit the inside of his lip, he could not let himself show any emotion right now, it would mean that Mummy had won the battle even if she wasn't present. He did wish that he had brought Rudy with him. 

"I've always tried my best with you, Mycroft," Father said in a cold voice that made Mycroft stop in his tracks, the words jagged like a knife that had been plunged into his back. Mycroft stood around tried to force the emotionless mask on, he couldn't show a sign of vulnerability right now. "I've done my best for you. I've paid for your education, I put you in the country's best schools. I've given you so many opportunities but all you do is give your mother and myself grief over the years. Mummy and I did always think that you were rather slow and sensitive for our liking.  I have to admit that outside parental attachment, I don't like you Mycroft. I've always considered you too strange for my liking." He reached into his wallet and pulled out several banknotes and thrust them into his hand. It was typical of his father, throwing at money at the problems until they went away. " Feel free to apologise once you've got that silly temper of yours under control. The opportunity is still going to be there, Mummy will be thrilled when you eventually visit. I do think that we should not see another for some time, would you not agree?  

Mycroft gave a wordless nod and turned his back and left. There was at least two hundred pounds in his hand, the paper almost seemed to burn his skin. He wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible. He marched along several streets for the nearest tube station, he only stopped when he noticed a woman with a charity bucket asking for donations for a food bank. Without a second thought, Mycroft walked up to her, basically threw the money in the bucket and left before the woman could even thank him and give him a sticker that proudly announced to London that he had donated. 

* * *

"How was the visit with your father, Mycroft?" Uncle Rudy called out from the conservatory as soon as Mycroft walked into the house, his voice clear over the sound of his sewing machine.  "You're home later than expected. It must have gone poorly as you've walked home from the station of taking a bus and you closed the gate with more force than necessary,  you must be in a foul mood. Come in."

Mycroft tried to hide his sigh and forced himself to straighten up, he had allowed his posture to slump the moment that he had entered the house. He wasn't sure if he even felt angry or upset anymore and he felt rather numb from what happened. He was downright furious about what happened, he hadn't been that angry with his father since Sherlock was last in the hospital and his father had accused him of making  Sherlock go off the rails, blaming his homosexuality for causing disruption to the family and causing Sherlock to misbehave. He had endured his father's accusations at the time, he was simply too exhausted and broken to fight back. He was the one who had to pick up Sherlock from that dosshouse at three in the morning and phone the ambulance, he had taken vigil by Sherlock's bedside and he would only leave when Rudy managed to convince him to get some food from the canteen. Father had arrived at the hospital two days after Sherlock was admitted, he seemed to be more concerned about having to leave his business trip early and what his colleagues thought of him, he never even visited Sherlock and Mummy did not even enquire about how Sherlock was.  

He had been close to exploding once he had left the pub and when Greg phoned to arrange the time to pick him up from Rudy and Paul's, he ranted about his father to Greg as he smoked several cigarettes to calm his nerves. Greg had been somewhat angry even though he wasn't there and it wasn't his battle and he had even offered that they cancel the date if he was not in the mood. He had even suggested that he could make dinner or get a takeaway and they could watch a film together. It did sound rather tempting, he would be more than happy to just have the evening with Greg.  He wasn't willing to cancel his date, it would mean that his parents would have won. 

"What are you working on?" Mycroft asked as he stepped into the conservatory that was Rudy's makeshift office. He perched on the armchair that Paul often used when he was doing his student's marking and he was wanting to keep Rudy company as he worked. He did enjoy reading in the conservatory as it had the best light in the house and he would often read out loud to Rudy as he worked on the sewing machine. It was a tradition that they had started when he was a child when Rudy believed that the school was holding him back and that he should be reading Dickens among with other classics instead of stories for children, but _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ was the exception to the rule, it was a favourite of his and Rudy's.  

Rudy glanced up from the sewing machine over glasses and he gave him a tight smile. "I'm having a battle with the Widow Twanky's costume for the final song, Barrie has managed to lose a lot of weight so the costume isn't fitting properly and sequins and feathers are going everywhere. I'm starting again from scratch. I wouldn't be a good stage manager if I didn't help get these costumes sorted," Uncle Rudy said with a long-suffering sigh. "I've had to sort out a hat for Lady Bracknell as well as a favour. I was at the rehearsals for the show the other day, you were a certainly better Lady Bracknell than the one in Lu's production."

"You are far too kind," Mycroft said with a shake of his head. He tried to give him a smile but it never seemed to stay on his face for longer than a second. "I'm not going to be meeting up with my father in the future and if he even bothers to send money, it will be going straight to charity," Mycroft stated after a few long minutes after debating if he should even bother to tell Rudy what happened, Rudy probably already knew what had happened just from looking at him. 

The constant whirl on the sewing machine stopped suddenly. "I should have come with you," Rudy said with a quiet sigh. "How are you feeling?  Honestly. You walked to the house from the station and you've been smoking. "

Mycroft shrugged, he had been furious before, even upset but it had seemed to fade into a numbness that surrounded him. He felt the same when he had been told to leave his parents house and he had taken the rejection even harder than he had expected. He smiled to himself when he thought of Greg's phrase of ' _life's a bitch but you keep going forward,'_ it was not the most elegant use of words but he did enjoy Greg's motto. "Furious to start off with and I had to endure a ten-minute lecture about how I was so cruel to Mummy for not answering her calls and visiting and that I should apologise to her," Mycroft said bitterly. "He is also convinced that I should be out of ' _my silly phase,_ ' and that I should bring a ' _lady friend,_ to the house as it would please Mummy so much. He is still convinced that I developed homosexual tendencies just from staying with you and Paul. It is just simply ridiculous."

"I am so tempted to go to your father's office and give him a piece of my mind." The sewing machine was abandoned and the vain that appeared on Rudy's forehead when he was angry was rather prominent. "I shouldn't have let you gone to meet him. You always end up getting upset when you deal with them, I should have been there instead of working on a silly dress."

Mycroft frowned, he knew that he shouldn't have said anything to Rudy, he always got so awfully emotional about matters like this. "I'll be okay, Rudy," Mycroft managed to get out. "It will be a wonderful inspiration for my autobiography and for any novels I will write," Mycroft tried to joke. "I told him that I was not going to change myself to please Mummy and that I was not going to visit her. " 

Rudy did not seem to be placated in the slightest and he had started to rant to Paul the moment that he had walked in with Rupert. As always, Rupert was thrilled to see him and was growling happily as he dropped a tennis ball on his lap. Mycroft knew that he shouldn't have said anything, he hated to upset Rudy and Paul especially after they had put up with so much grief that he caused. He often found surprising that they had wanted to keep him, they probably found him rather strange like what his parents did. He did hope that they liked him at least.

He went into the garden with Rupert when Rudy and Paul were chatting away to themselves, serious expressions had moulded onto their faces as they whispered quietly in harsh tones. He tried to ignore the feeling of guilt that had seemed to replace the numbness inside of him. He sat on the patio and was obscured by the side of the shed and pulled out his cigarettes while he half-heartedly threw a tennis ball for Rupert. He scolded himself for sulking and letting his father's words bother him so much. He had been called so many horrible things over the years by his parents and other bullies, he had cruelly insulted himself so many times over the years, and nothing had bothered him as much as being called _strange._ He scrubbed at his eyes with his spare hand and scolded himself harshly for being so emotional when his sigh was more watery than he would have liked.  He stubbed out his cigarette on the patio with more aggression than necessary and rested his head on his knees with a sigh.

"Mind if  I join you? I won't give you a lecture for smoking, just this time." 

Mycroft lifted his head up from his knees and saw that Paul was sitting on the patio next to him. He forced himself to appear more collected and professional, but his posture fell when Paul had placed a hand on his back and started to make small circles. "I'm so sorry that I upset you and Uncle Rudy. I know that I've really upset him, I shouldn't have said anything," Mycroft said honestly, it felt as if he had a stone in his throat and his eyes focused on the garden plot for the beetroot.  "I've given you two so much grief over the years and I do not simply understand why you put up with it."

Paul pushed up his glasses and spoke after a few long moments. Mycroft half expected for Paul to tell him that he did not like him once the silence had ended. He usually did expect the worst-case scenario in people once he had dealt with his parents. "When I started to see your uncle, I wasn't much older than yourself.  I had never desired to have children when I was your age or even to settle down.  I was just focused on getting my PhD, digging in trenches, and partying. I used to be a wild thing in the day, I know that it is hard to believe," he let out a chuckle. "I was pretty tame when it came to Rudy, it was the eighties after all."

Mycroft looked at Paul, almost as if he had grown an extra head. "What has this got to do with anything? I know that you are trying to cheer me up, but I do not have much of an interest in your clubbing days."

Paul let of an amused laugh and picked at the moss that was growing in between the concrete slabs. "I had started to see your uncle and I initially panicked when I found out that he frequently looked after his nephew, as your parents couldn't be bothered to do so. You were almost three at the time, " He closed his eyes and let out a contented sigh, almost as if he was reminiscing. "Having a child was never part of the plan and it wasn't even an option, civil partnerships weren't even an option until three years ago. I had been reluctant at first, admittedly, my life was researching and partying, I wasn't wanting to change it.  Rudy had told me that he was part of a packaged deal with you and he was only twenty-four at the time, he was still so young and he was trying to get his career started.  He told me that if I wanted to start a future with him, you had to be included.  I  was on the fence at the time as it a very serious decision and no one I knew would even think of such a thing, especially at the time."

"So you decided to put up with me?" Mycroft said cooly. "My own father told me that he did not like me and you are telling me this? I'm needing to  study before Greg comes over." He stood up quickly and turned his back to Paul, calling Rupert over. He stopped mid-step once Paul had started to speak once more. 

"I bought you this book on dinosaurs and you were so demanding as a child, you made me read this book to you constantly and you only wanted to talk about dinosaurs, you were obsessed with them, 'Croft," Paul said with a chuckle. "Rudy and I took you to the Natural History Museum when you were three and you refused to leave the dinosaurs, we had to stay all day in the museum as you were wanting to learn everything about them, especially Dippy. We were more than happy to indulge you, especially Rudy, you were so incredibly bright as a child, you still are. What I really remember from it, I chose to have you in my life permanently that day. I don't put up with anything that you do, 'Croft, I chose to be in your life. Rudy and I are going to be stuck with you if you like it or not.  We even talked about adopting you, your parents made things difficult though."

Mycroft bit the inside of his cheek hard and stared at the garden wall. "Is Rudy going to murder my parents? You know how upset he gets about things, Mummy always used to criticise him for being too emotional. I shouldn't have said anything."

Paul shook his head and sighed. "You know how Rudy gets when you are upset. He would rather know what happened than to no be able to do anything. You can talk to us about anything, you know that?"

"My father said some unkind words that's all. I let them bother me than I should have done. It's fine, I told him that I wasn't going to change myself to keep them happy," Mycroft murmured with a shrug. "I told him that I consider you and Rudy to be my parents, more than what my own had ever been. You've always been there...I'm not good at saying things like this. "

  
"You've got over two hundred years of British emotional repression in you. I've been saying that since you were a child, " Paul joked, his eyes did look rather damp. "But that is the nicest thing you've probably said to me, Mycroft. Is it possible to get this on paper? Perhaps get it embroidered on a tea towel to give to Rudy for Christmas?"

Mycroft did manage to conjure a smile on his face, it was genuine.  "I can't possibly let you do that," he replied, "I cannot possibly let people think that I'm nice, I have a reputation to maintain. It's bad enough letting myself get upset over my father."

Rudy came out of the conservatory, the vain still rather prominent on his forehead but he was considerably calmer than before. He moved to sit on the concrete, for once not caring about his clothes. "I do apologise that I got awfully upset," Rudy mumbled, stepping his fingers under his chin. "I'm not letting you be talked to like that by your father."

Mycroft let out a sigh and he reached over to grab Rudy's hand. "As far as I'm concerned, he is just someone who has the same surname as me."

Rudy bit his lip and let out a wet sigh, Mycroft wasn't too sure if he had upset him or not, he wasn't that good at understanding emotions and Rudy was far too emotional for his taste at times. He only found out that he had said the right thing  when Rudy, in a rare example of physical affection, hugged him tightly and only seemed to let go when Greg knocked on the door.

* * *

The question took Greg by surprise, he could only blink in response. It was so unexpected and it seemed to come out of nowhere. Mycroft was in the middle of his dagger scene and he stopped suddenly and with a sigh, he asked him the question. 

"Do think that I'm strange?" Mycroft repeated, leaning against the counter. "Be truthful, I won't be offended in what you say."

"Did someone say something to you?" Greg asked, throwing his script onto the table. "Was it your dad?"

Mycroft let out a sigh and only nodded. The expression on his face broke Greg's heart, he seemed to almost get shy again. It was a shame especially with how confident he usually was these days, It was endearing to see Mycroft go shy at times, his ears would go pink when Greg had given him a compliment or had attempted to flirt with him. He loved seeing the shy smile on Mycroft's face when Greg would call him _brilliant,_ that always got a reaction out of Mycroft. 

"It's not the first time that I've been described as being strange," Mycroft murmured, glancing down at the script. "I wouldn't be surprised if you thought I was."  
  


"I think that you are brilliant and it should be engraved into your brain by now," Greg said with a grin. "If anyone else thinks less of you, you tell them to _'piss off.'_ Macbeth would tell people to piss off when people were bothering him.'

The shy smile appeared on Mycroft's face and he quickly looked at the ground. Greg could never understand how Mycroft, who was going to be the lead in a school show and he had grown massively in confidence, could instantly go back into his shell when he was given a compliment. It was the first time that he had seen a genuine smile on Mycroft's face that day. He was really quiet as Greg had picked him up from the house, it was understandable with how upset he was on the phone earlier on. He sounded fairly collected on the phone but it did sound like he wanted to shout as he told Greg what happened with his father and what had been said to him. It was the angriest that Mycroft had been about anything in the whole time that they had known another, he and Mycroft had squabbled frequently at the start of term but it had died down after a few weeks and they had become friends. Mycroft tended not to raise his voice when he was angry, his voice was usually like ice and his words were jagged and struck people to the bone. Mycroft would get frustrated with him often, especially when he had kept flubbing his lines for Macbeth, but he would just sigh and roll his eyes. 

"Besides, who cares if people think that you are strange? People do weird stuff all the time," Greg commented, nudging Mycroft's side. "I did think that you were strange when I first saw you, you did label your teabags. You have to admit that it was rather strange."

"I wasn't prepared to share my food with anyone," Mycroft commented as he fidgeted with his jumper. "What else do you find strange?"

"That your uncle has a collection of garden gnomes, that is very odd," Greg replied and took pride in the laugh that he managed to summon out of Mycroft. "It's also strange how your dog is called Rupert."

"What is wrong with that name?" Mycroft asked, his arms folded across his chest. "Rupert is a suitable name, I couldn't have a dog with a common name or name it after something stupid."

"It just makes it obvious that your dog has two dads, Myc," Greg retorted, trying to contain the chuckle that was threatening to come out. Thankfully Mycroft saw the humour and his laugh filled the question. "You probably think that I do strange things."

 Mycroft thought for a moment, almost as if he was choosing his words carefully. He tried to adjust the glasses that he wasn't wearing, he seemed to do it out of habit."I don't think that you are strange, not even in the slightest... I do like you."

"I like you too," Greg murmured and without thinking he placed a kiss onto Mycroft's cheek. "Besides, you will think that I'm strange once I've said this, but I really want to give you a laugh," Greg said before Mycroft could say anything else. "I have been studying for this date, I've actually been to the library and I've been researching online about the exhibits. I was really wanting to impress you and just to be able to talk about the Roman and medieval artefacts. I've also been looking at my A-level history notes."

Mycroft did not say anything for a few moments before he started to laugh to himself, shaking his head. "I've been doing the same, I was worried about not having anything to talk about with you. I must admit that I've been incredibly nervous about this."

"Hey," Greg murmured, placing a hand on Mycroft's arm. "It's only the two of us and it's going to be fine. It's not like this is a blind date or we are strangers. It's just two people going out and having a good time." He was surprised about how confident he sounded especially as he had been up for more than half the night due to his nerves and he had been studying for the date as if it was an exam. "We don't even have to go out if you are not up to it. I'm more than happy to make dinner for us and we can watch a film, or we can just go to the pub. I'm more than happy just to do anything with you, spending an evening with a good looking bloke, I'm happy already."

 Mycroft was rendered speechless once Greg had spoken, Greg was not fully sure if he had burst a blood vessel and he had frozen like a virus filled laptop. "No one has said that to me before..." Mycroft managed to utter out once he started to reboot.

"I'm not just saying that by the way," Greg commented, "I've always had a thing for redheads." 

He did wonder if he had gone too far when Mycroft had tried to adjust his non-existent glasses and cleared his throat, quietly suggesting that they go over Lady Macbeth's first monologue. 

He didn't want to make Mycroft uncomfortable by pushing the boat out too quickly. It had taken them so long to even get on a date or longer for one of them to actually admit that they liked another. He didn't know how much experience Mycroft had and he didn't want to scare him off by being too forward, he was scared that if he pushed too much, it would make Mycroft flee like a baby deer. Greg thought that it was best for Mycroft to set the pace, he didn't want to feel as if he was pressuring him too much and it would make up for his own lack of experience. He hadn't even been with anyone who was shy before, all of his ex-girlfriends had always made the first move and told him that he was buying them a drink or they had asked him out and they set the pace for the relationship. Greg didn't mind too much, confident people were his type, just seeing Mycroft on the stage and acting so confident, it was almost intoxicating and he flubbed his lines so many times over the last few weeks. It was difficult to concentrate on his lines especially when he kept thinking about how much he wanted to kiss him.

Greg managed to go over the majority of his lines with ease and without having to refer to the book. He wasn't perfect and he did stumble with a few lines but he was able to correct himself with ease. It had been a struggle to learn his lines and it taken some time, but he was getting there slowly but surely. He had found the audio adaptions of the play online and had downloaded a copy on his phone and he listened to it on the way to work and when he was in the gym, it seemed to help the lines sink into his brain much better than reading. 

_"Great Glamis, worthy Cawdor,_

_Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter..."_

"Have you forgotten your lines?" Mycroft asked as he approached Greg, suddenly a lot more confident than he had been earlier. "This is always the part that you struggle with."

Greg shook his head and he took a glance of his script, the stage directions were teasing him. They had been taunting him for weeks, telling him that Macbeth and Lady Macbeth had to kiss. Greg swallowed hard and he took a few steps until his lower back was pressing horribly against the corner of the kitchen counter. "It's the stage direction that I seem to have an issue with."

"I understand," Mycroft nodded, shifting awkwardly. "We should probably try and sort it out, shouldn't we? We wouldn't want Sarah giving us another row." 

"I should probably check the door, we can't have anyone just barging in. I think that we said something about having a barricade the last time?" Greg swallowed hard and ran a hand through his hair, letting out a nervous chuckle.  His heart felt as if it was beating out of his chest, almost as if he was on a rollercoaster and he was slowly making his way to the top, making his way to for the big drop. He wiped his hands on his jeans and tried to appear more confident than he felt. "Should I go and check the door? I can't have you leaving for Nepal, I would miss you dearly."

The breath felt as if it had been sucked out of his lungs when Mycroft nodded eagerly, fiddling with his nonexistent glasses. 

"Right, I'll just check the door," Greg nodded, taking a breath in the attempt to calm himself down. He had never been this nervous about kissing someone since he was a teenager. He tried to get rid of the tension of the room by making a show of checking if anyone was outside of the door and even dragged one of the kitchen chairs to the door as a makeshift barricade in the attempt to coax a giggle out of Mycroft.  "That should keep us safe."

Mycroft let out a soft chuckle and shook his head, "You are honestly so daft."

Greg let out a breath and ran his hand through his hair, he became rather aware of how close Mycroft was standing next to him. He shuffled back to the kitchen counter and picked his script. He felt so awfully lost, not sure what he was meant to do. He cleared this throat and decided that it was sensible to go over his lines once more. " _Great Glamis-"_

"Oh for God's sake, Greg," Mycroft murmured before he cupped the sides of Greg's face and pulled him in close, clashing his lips against Greg's. 

The kiss was clumsy at first, Greg barely had time to prepare himself for it as it was just so sudden and their noses bashed against another. Greg felt as if he could hardly think and he could only focus on kissing Mycroft and the fingers that were now in his hair. His legs felt boneless and he had to grab onto the kitchen counter for support, pleasantly surprised to discover that Mycroft was a rather good kisser. He would have to ask how he learned to kiss like that, it seemed improbable for someone who acted so shy and who spent all day behind his books was able to kiss like that.

Mycroft reluctantly pulled back and took several steps back, his face pink with embarrassment. His hands shaking and his hair a mess from Greg's fingers raking in it.  "I should not have done that, that was so impulsive of me."

"Impulsive is good for me," Greg murmured breathless. "Impulsive is brilliant, more than brilliant." 

He did not give Mycroft the chance to reply, he was so desperate to make up for all of the time that they had spent dancing around another. He grabbed a fistful of Mycroft's jumper and pulled him in close, pressing their lips together once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've not got much to say other than a massive thank you to everyone who has supported this story so far! 
> 
> I am just as thrilled that I've finally made something happen between Mycroft and Greg, I was getting so fed up with dancing around another constantly. I was hoping to make something happen a lot earlier, but the moment never felt right storywise. I also felt that I was rather cruel to Mycroft in this chapter at the start and I needed to give him some happiness in his life. It was a thrill writing this chapter this week, and I am pleased that I should be with Greg's joke about Rupert's name, I'd come up with it weeks ago and I've been desperate to use it.


End file.
